


Ring of Fire

by Innibis



Series: The Goblin War [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Death Eaters, Dragons, Established Relationship, Goblin War, M/M, Patronus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Refugees, family fractures, peace talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innibis/pseuds/Innibis
Summary: The first real chance for peace in years is threatened by internal factions in both the wizarding and goblin societies.





	Ring of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Putting the blame squarely on recent conversations with other old school shippers that made me want to possibly start writing again after 72 years off, but in the meantime I'm moving stuff over from LJ. For posterity I guess? It was a miracle I remembered that account’s password. . .
> 
> Many thanks to dear friend and beta workerbee73

Someone was watching him. Ron Weasley could feel it down in his bones as he walked his half of the perimeter of the site chosen for the peace negotiations to take place in ten days. Looking across the hilltop, he couldn’t quite see his goblin counterpart, hidden by the dark of a moonless night. He pulled his cloak tighter to disguise his shifted grip on his wand.    
  
He could hear nothing, see nothing, but awareness was creeping up his spine; he had learned not to discount the nerves that had kept him alive through the years. Ron fought down the instinct to light his wand, to try to see an approaching enemy. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here but him and the goblin – standing a 24-7 watch over the area to assure no tricks from either side. The middle of the night shift was usually covered by junior law enforcement, not a senior Auror, but he had been restless with Harry gone on a week long inspection of the refugee settlements dotting the countryside so he had shifted his team’s schedule around. They needed the rest anyway, and the time was long past that Ron could sleep through the night without Harry near.   
  
A faint rustling was all the warning he had.   
  
He swung around, his wand raised, to see a goblin, different from his guard counterpart, rushing him. He swore and threw up a shield, not willing to be the one that cast the first curse when a chance for peace was within reach. The necessary restraint infuriated him, but there were bigger problems at hand then his temper. “We had a deal, Goblin,” he shouted as the snarling creature circled him.   
  
“I make no deals with humans,” it hissed, pointy teeth bared.    
  
He watched warily as another goblin approached at a run from other side of the hill. Ron recognized it as the one he had met hours earlier at the beginning of their respective shifts. It was shouting in Gobbledegook, a language Ron would never be able to understand, no matter how hard Fleur had tried to teach him. His attacker responded in kind and then ran into the night.   
  
Ron stared hard at the remaining goblin and then lowered the shield. “What was that?” he demanded.   
  
The goblin looked seriously furious. “I am not certain,” it answered, straightening its shoulders. “That was not a sanctioned attack, Auror.”    
  
Ron really, really wanted to believe him. He nodded. “You tell your boss I tell mine?” he asked.    
  
“I can’t leave my post until I am relieved,” the goblin said.   
  
“Well, I’m going to send the Minister a message,” he waved his wand vaguely. “I’ll tell him to let Urg know as well.”   
  
“That is acceptable,” the goblin allowed.    
  
Ron moved his wand through the familiar old pattern and thought of the back of Harry’s knobby knees. “ _Expecto Patronum_ .”

* * *

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing three days worth of grime even further into his pores before sliding smeary glasses back onto his nose and looking around the charred landscape for Charlie Weasley. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.   


Not the circling dragons spitting flame at the nearly decimated settlement, not the collapsed economy or the splintered wizard governments or terrorist organizations led by friends, or kidnapped curse breakers, or, God, not the dead. Not the crushed bones of Arthur Weasley, entombed near Fred under a tree at the now abandoned Burrow. Never, ever was it supposed to have been Hermione, one of the first casualties of the war – whose loss still left him breathless, left him shaking and hollow years later even though he knew, _knew_ with the certainty of proof that isn’t afforded to other people, that death was just another step in the journey.  
  
A heavy hand clapped down in Harry’s shoulder. “Civilians got out. Minor casualties, and we almost got ‘em all wrangled,” Charlie panted with the effort of running and working in the smoke.  
  
Harry looked up, watching the Horntails sweep across the dust dark sky with wide, leathery wing strokes, stirring the embers and ash as they screeched fire-tinged calls to one another. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “looks like you’ve got them under control. Nice technique,” he added when one of the dragons knocked over a handler with the force of swooping wind as it dove by.   
  
Charlie slapped the back of his head. “Watch.”  
  
Sure enough, the sky was . . . shrinking. Harry watched, fascinated, as the Horntails were pushed into an ever smaller circle of smoky blue until their wings were too close together to fly anymore and they all landed in a heap of pointy tails and snapping snouts. “C’mon!” Charlie shouted and Harry ran forward when Charlie gave him an encouraging push towards the mass of dragons. Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to do anything but dodge and ride dragons, but he started throwing _confundus_ spells into the mass of writhing lizards, hoping he was helping the rest of the two dozen or so handlers.  
  
When not a single scale was twitching anymore, the sky expanded again. Harry left the dragons to the handlers’ infinitely more capable hands and walked toward the tower, still standing. An ancient keep with wards layered thick as blood over the worn stone. He headed straight for the fireplace, and threw in a fistful of increasingly valuable floo powder, dug from a sack he carried in his traveling cloak. “12 Grimmuald Place,” he said as he dropped to his knees and stuck his head into the green flames.   
  
“Ron!” he shouted into the dark living room.  
  
Kreacher popped into the room. “Master,” he said severely as he observed his wayward master’s filthy face with naked disapproval.  
  
“Sorry Kreacher,” Harry said, feeling vaguely like he should have washed behind his ears before calling. “Is Ron home?”  
  
“Wheezy is with the Minister,” Kreacher said, “He said for Master to send a patronus when you is done playing dragons with Wheezy Charlie.”  
  
“Alright, thanks,” Harry said. “I should be home tonight, but I’ll let you know if things change.” He ducked out of the fire and shook his head to free the slightly dizzying sensation of having been two places at once before he took out his wand.  
  
He cast his patronus, the familiar stag taking a lap around the room before stopping in front of him. Harry laid his hand against the energy of the patronus’ neck, fingers tangling in silver threads he couldn’t quite feel in a thoughtless gesture of habit. “Another attack. Dragons have been neutralized but the place is demolished, as usual. Charlie and I are fine. Evacuation plan being carried out. I’m going to poke around a bit for clues and then head home. Meet you there?” He sent the stag away with a flick of his wand and headed out the door, stretching a back stiff from hours of running and rescuing, bleakly surveying the smoldering mess around him as he waited.  
  
An otter swan into view not five minutes later, Ron’s patronus since the day Hermione’s death had changed something fundamental in them both. It swirled around him playfully and Harry let his fingers run along the ghostly paleness of its back. “I might have preferred dragon dodging to listening to Percy’s intelligence reports all morning,” Ron’s warm voice flowed over him. “Some interesting developments on the negotiation front while you’ve been gone; seems that there’s dissention in the Goblin ranks – who knows if that’s a good thing for us at this point, but I’m guessing not – we can talk about it later. Tell Charlie to floo Mum. I’ll see you tonight. Finally.” The otter flipped upside down and floated in front of his face nose to nose for a moment before fading away and Harry smiled. Finally was right.   
  
He strode through the burnt out tents, barely paying attention to the destruction around him. It was simply too common a sight these days for him to feel anything but the familiar sense of heaviness pressing down on his shoulders. He knew this wasn’t technically his fault. Ron had beaten that fact so far into his skull that Harry was pretty sure he had been brainwashed into acceptance as opposed to any natural psychological healing that Hermione would have insisted upon. Still, there were days—days when he hadn’t seen Ron, hadn’t felt him pressed warm and long and real against his side, as natural as breathing—where Harry felt that burden of responsibility zinging along the edges of his awareness. He was, after all, the only wizard mentioned by name in the list of grievances issued by the Goblins. He was the one who had ultimately taken the Sword of Gryffindor in the first place, effectively trading one fight for another.  
  
He found the senior investigator on his team trying to stay out of the path of dragon handlers as they levitated the unconscious beasts into pens. “Find anything, Maureen?” he asked.   
  
Maureen Hawkins, meticulous and serious and somehow still neat as a pin fell into step beside him as Harry continued to walk, half a mind on trying to find Charlie. “We found the remnants of a homing spell on the old well in the center of the tents.”   
  
Harry stopped. “Homing spell? Can you lift the signature? Is it identifiable?” he asked. It was the first proof that the dragon attacks were magic induced. Not that anyone had doubted that the animals had been provoked, but the places that had been too torched to offer explanation. The small, impromptu refugee towns that had popped up around old warded buildings had been so flattened that there had been nothing left to enlighten the Aurors on how or why it was happening.   
  
“The dragons only stopped burning everything in sight about twenty minutes ago, sir. A little more time would probably be beneficial.” Maureen said.  
  
“Yes—sorry. Carry on,” Harry said, and Hawkins peeled away to continue her investigation.  
  
Harry approached Charlie who was coming out of a dragon pen looking bedraggled. “What spell was that you were casting? I was trying to hit their eyes, but you lot put them right to sleep.”  
  
“We were sucking the air out of the containment field. Best way to put them to sleep – a little oxygen deprivation followed quickly by sending in the healers to shoot them up with sleeping potions to keep them under until we can transport them,” Charlie said.  
  
“What else needs doing?” Harry asked, looking around at the decimated tents. “I have to talk to the survivors, see where they’re settled; make sure they have somewhere to go, something to eat.” He barely contained the sigh of exhaustion.  
  
“You need to go home, mate,” Charlie said seriously. “You’ve been in the field with me for a week now; your team hasn’t been. Let them handle this and let my brother and your partially insane elf take care of you for awhile.   
  
Harry thought about it for a moment, weighing abandoning his team against freckly skin and a shower. Perhaps even freckly skin in the shower. “Maybe,” he said to Charlie. He thumped the redhead on the back. “Floo your mum. She hasn’t talked to you in while and is complaining to Ron about it.”  
  
Charlie hauled him in for a hug. “Take care, Harry,” he said. “See you soon.” He probably would. The dragon attacks had been one of the few consistent things in their lives for the past two months. Most of the refugees had been through this at least twice but had no where else to go, houses having been destroyed by goblins, so they just kept setting up new tents until the dragons inevitably came.  
  
Harry extricated himself and trotted off to find Hawkins. “I can’t see straight right now,” he began without preamble. “You said you wanted more leadership experience, the scene is yours for the rest of the day.” She brightened considerably. “Finish combing the area, trace that homing spell and talk to the civilians—make sure they have somewhere to go and send them to one of the temporary emergency housing places, um—St. Mungo’s this time—if they don’t. Don’t work the team too hard,” Harry warned her, “it’s been a long couple of months.”  
  
“I know, sir,” Maureen said, rolling her eyes, “I have been an Auror for a few years now.” She promised to call if anything went wrong and Harry promised to be back the next morning. Then he left his team without too much regret and flooed home.

* * *

Ron hit the floor hard, his jaw throbbing where his opponent’s fist had connected. He raised himself up on hands and knees and shook his head to clear the ringing. Sweat stung his eyes and dripped onto the mat beneath him.   
  
“Alright, Ron?”   
  
“Fantastic,” he muttered and heaved himself to his feet. He ineffectually tried to push shaggy, damp hair out of his face with a boxing glove. “Remind me why I do this to myself.”  
  
“Because I need a sparring partner with a comparable reach, and you need to get your mind off of all the ways that Harry is trying to get himself killed. Heroically, of course. All for the cause,” Kingsley said, bare chest gleaming with perspiration, shuffling from foot to foot with a bouncing, dancing sort of grace that Ron was quite sure he didn’t possess.   
  
“Right,” he said bringing his hands up again, “and you knocking me around has nothing at all to do with the fact that Percy is smack in the middle of intelligence gathering at The Order and getting more and more depressed watching our sister conspire against us?”  
  
The Minister of Magic had definitely not lost his edge since leaving the field and taking over the top governmental position. He moved forward into Ron’s space with a series of fast jabs and a wicked right hook that nearly caught Ron’s chin again, but he clumsily spun out of the way. Ron wasn’t all that good a boxer. It was something that he had recently taken up, first to keep Kingsley company, but then he had come to find a measure of peace in the controlled violence. There was a releasing of aggression in the ring, a discipline that harnessed the anger, surrounded it with gloves, confined it to an arena and honed it with rules of engagement. It was nothing like the war outside the ring.  
  
The men circled each other, Kingsley dark and dangerous and absolutely seething at his apparent helplessness on the inside. Ron wouldn’t have his job for the world, but he could help as much as possible. He raised his fists higher and went in hard, catching Kingsley’s ribs with an uppercut before being summarily backed up against the ropes by a flurry of fists. Abruptly, they were gone.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ron,” Kingsley panted. “I shouldn’t take this out on you.”  
  
Ron dropped his head back, feeling his too long hair slide against the skin of his upper back. “’s what I’m here for,” he said when he got his breath back, glancing sideways at his brother-in-law. “I need this. Maybe as much as you do.”   
  
Kingsley straightened up off the ropes. “We all do what we can.” It was the way of the world these days. Everyone did what they had to do and hoped to whatever gods they believed in that they survived, sane, to the end of the week. They climbed out the ring and cast quick freshening charms in the changing room before pulling back on their shirts. They nodded to the squib owner who let the Aurors use his muggle gym for free since their’s had been destroyed and left. “Diagon Alley?” Kingsley asked.   
  
Ron’s chest tightened. Kinglsey liked to visit the abandoned street a few times a week. Harry or Percy always tried to make sure that he didn’t go alone, but they weren’t here. Ron didn’t ever go to Diagon Alley any more. He could still see Hermione’s broken body on the marble stairs of Gringotts. He could still feel the crushing loss from when he had thought he’d lost Harry to the goblins. These days, he could almost hear Bill screaming for help, for Ron’s help, deep underground, from the bowels of the goblin infested bank. But he nodded and squared his shoulders and tried to pretend that he wasn’t haunted by the things he couldn’t change.  
  
They walked the few blocks to The Leaky Cauldron and Ron ran through the series of spells that kept the abandoned building closed to squatters. They moved quickly through the silence of the barroom, cobwebs and memories swirling around, disturbed by their footsteps.   
  
Kingsley pulled out his wand, tapped the bricks precisely and the wall swung open.   
  
“Once upon a time,” Harry had begun one night, lying propped up on an elbow and idly tracing patterns on Ron’s chest, in answer to Ron’s question if he ever regretted leaving the safety of muggle anonymity. “Once upon a time, I didn’t know what magic was, but then Hagrid took me to The Alley and my life really began.” He had leaned forward and traced the tip of his nose up Ron’s jaw to whisper in his ear. “I don’t regret one second that I’ve spent in this world with you.”  
  
It was an obscenity to Ron, this filthy, dark place that had once upon a time ushered Harry Potter into the world of magic. A fucking desecration to see his childhood memories overlaid with garbage and rat shit. The rage rose up, unbidden and he had to bite back a snarl when Kingsley looked at him with such understanding and sympathy. “Let’s go,” he gritted between his teeth. Kingsley, thankfully, said nothing.  
  
They moved from store front to store front, testing locks, looking for signs of forced entry, the shadow of Gringotts hulking over them. “I wonder if they’re watching,” Kingsley said, standing at the doorway of Olivanders and looking at the bank, “if they can hear us.”  
  
Ron shot a handful of questing spells out of the tip of his wand, checking the perimeter of Diagon Alley. It seemed to be clear of spying spells, but he cast a silence bubble around them as well, just to be sure. “When are we going to talk about the prisoners, sir?” He asked. Along with a temporary cease fire, he and Harry had acquired information that the goblins had not killed all of their captured employees; that some, in fact, were being held prisoner, performing the magical tasks that goblins were incapable of doing themselves. Bill had been taken years ago, the first day of the war, taken and presumed dead, leaving a pregnant wife and a grieving family. The possibility that he might yet live pounded through Ron’s veins, kept in check by the discipline instilled in war and the loyalty inspired by Kingsley.   
  
Kingsley sighed his frustration, “I can’t make that public, Weasley. You know that.” Ron did know that. He even agreed with it, right up to the point where his red-haired, Veela-eyed niece flicked peas in his hair and he nearly choked on the bitterness of Bill missing it all. “Assuming that the negotiations still take place in a week despite their internal trouble. You have my absolute assurance that we are going to at least try to get the names of the surviving prisoners.” Ron nodded. It was all he could ask of the man at the moment. No plans could be made until they knew what the goblins were willing to offer.   
  
“In the meantime,” Kingsley said, “Harry’s team will continue working on the dragon attacks. I want you to continue your team’s focus on negotiation security. Also, come up with a contingency plan. I’m not letting our people rot in the vaults of Gringott’s, no matter what the goblin’s say.”  
  
“Understood,” Ron said, straightening his shoulders, glad to be given something proactive to do. He released the silencer spell and fell into step behind Kingsley as he continued down the street, watching his commander’s back.

* * *

Immediately upon arriving home, Harry climbed the stairs of the Ron-less Grimuald Place to Sirius’ room. He was the only one who went in there. The only one who cleaned it. Ron and Kreacher let him keep his vigil privately for there were not many places to mourn in peace anymore and they each had their own way of coping. In this room, Harry kept his only secret from Ron, a quiet, necessary sort of betrayal.  
  
He pulled a colorful silk scarf from a frame and looked into warm brown eyes. “Hullo, Hermione.”  
  
The painting had been commissioned, along with one of him and one of Ron, to commemorate the fall of Voldemort. It had survived the wreckage of the Ministry when none of the people inside had.   
  
“Hi, Harry,” she said. “You look tired.”  
  
“Long day,” he said and settled, cross legged, in front of her.  
  
“Have you told him yet?” She asked pointedly. Knowing he hadn’t because otherwise Ron would have come and seen her.  
  
“It’s not a good time at the moment,” he hedged.   
  
“It’s not ever going to be a good time,” Hermione’s painting said. “I am not your priest. I don’t need your confessions or your guilt.”  
  
But Ron wouldn’t even accept his guilt; she was all there was. “I took him,” Harry said, needing her to understand how egregiously he had wronged her. “I took him after you were gone and I’m not sorry.”  
  
“Neither am I,” she said. “Neither is he.” She looked at him with exasperation. “Why are you so sure that I, that _she_ , would begrudge you this happiness?”  
  
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Harry snapped.  
  
“What’s ‘supposed to be’?” The painting demanded. “There’s only what it is and what it might become. There is a terrible war and you have someone to love, who loves you back, who brings you some joy in all this sadness. What else is there?”  
  
“Don’t you ever think of what would have happened if you hadn’t died?” Harry asked. “You and Ron would still be together, maybe even me and Ginny.”  
  
“You don’t know that, and you will drive yourself crazy thinking that way,” Hermione’s image tilted her head. “What is, what was, what is going to be—these things are always changing. In another place or time, maybe different choices are made, different outcomes reached.”  
  
“You sound like Trelawney when you talk like that,” Harry said sourly.  
  
“Prophecy is an excellent example, actually,” the painting said. “All those unfulfilled prophecies—somewhere else, perhaps your parents lived.”  
  
“Somewhere…” Harry rubbed his head, “You’re giving me a headache.”  
  
“Exactly,” she beamed. “It’s not magic, it’s a physics theory–one that is prone to giving people headaches. The same object exists in all possible states, in an infinite number of universes. All possibilities exist, Harry. In some other universe Tom Riddle was never even born, or Neville was the Chosen One, or Ron and I had a huge row and broke up, or,” she smiled kindly, “we all survived and the goblins never attacked, and I married Ron and you married Ginny and we put our children on the Hogwarts Express every September. Just because some possibilities are preferable doesn’t make other possibilities wrong.”  
  
“Circumstances,” Harry said.  
  
“They’re what make us who we are,” the painting said, shrugging. “You do the best you can with what you have.”  
  
“Harry!” Ron’s voice carried up the stairs and into Sirius’ room and Harry grinned reflexively, closing his eyes, relaxing for the first time in a week. He opened to look into Hermione’s fond eyes.  
  
“Now why would I ever resent something that makes you smile like that?” she asked.

* * *

Harry barreled down the stairs, heedless and too fast and exactly like himself, a vision in sweat and soot and unruly hair. Ron was unable to contain his smile as Harry tripped on the second to last step and crashed landed into his arms. He grunted at the impact and bent his head to plant a hard kiss on the side of a dirty neck as Harry laughed into his shoulder. “You survive a dragon fight to take a header down the stairs?” he asked fondly.   


Harry shrugged and pulled back enough to grin tiredly up at him, “I like to be unpredictable.”  
  
“And filthy apparently,” Ron said, looking down at his now sooty robes.  
  
“Figured you could help with that.” Harry trailed a finger down Ron’s throat and leaned in to kiss the freckled Adam’s apple.   
  
“I could do that,” Ron said, capturing Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Before Kreacher yells at you for getting the furniture dirty again.”   
  
“The sooner we start moving in that direction, the less likely he’ll be to get angry,” Harry said, squeezing Ron’s hand and beginning to back towards the stairs, his other arm anchored firmly around the red-head’s waist.  
  
Ron leaned in to suck on Harry’s lower lip as they shuffled, releasing it with a pop. “Walking backwards after you tripped running forwards.” He brushed his lips lightly over the corner of Harry’s mouth. “This is a good idea.”  
  
Harry stepped onto the first step, bringing his eyes level with Ron’s. “It’s a very good idea.” He slid his hand down and over the curve of Ron’s bum. “Excellent even,” he breathed against his neck and Ron shuddered at the sensation of Harry’s words flowing down his body.   
  
“This would go faster if we both were facing the same way,” Ron tried again, half-heartedly as they climbed the stairs at a crawling pace, Harry pulling at his hand and gripping at his arse and mouthing at his neck in an entirely distracting way.  
  
“We’re getting there. In a hurry?” They were past the landing now. Ron stepped closer to enjoy the full effect of Harry sliding up his body, hard against his thigh, as he mounted the last set of stairs.  
  
“I could do this all day,” Ron groaned in capitulation. He heard the water turn on in the shower just above and down the hall, unsure whether it was Harry’s magic or Kreacher’s pointed hint.  
  
Harry laughed, warm and sure and happy, and abruptly turned and sprinted up the remaining stairs and down the passage, tugging Ron behind him. As they shrugged their way out of clothes, Ron felt the tension start to ease out of him, the ever present anger lie down and simmer in the wake of Harry’s haphazardly tossed socks and pants. He followed his best friend into the steamy hot water and pressed against the well-loved back, wrapping sore arms around a slippery, lean body and just breathed.

* * *

Draco scratched at the unfamiliar sensation of a full beard, grimacing at the ash caught in the rough facial hair, as they waited for their instructions in the old warded keep. He had done this far too many times and it didn’t seem like they were getting any closer to their goal.  
  
A worn looking Auror stepped in front of the group of pathetic refugees who had just lost their homes. “Right,” he started tiredly. “We can’t let you back to collect any belongings that might have survived just yet.” The inevitable rumbling rose, but the Auror held up his hand spoke quickly over all of them. “Just until tomorrow morning,” he clarified. “It’s too dark to find anything right now anyway. There will be law enforcement officials on site all night so nothing will be taken.”  
  
The Auror paused and consulted his notes. “There have been rooms and essentials made available at St. Mungo’s for the night. It’s safe there. You can wash and eat and have somewhere clean to sleep.” He looked over the bedraggled crowd sadly. “I wish we could do more,” he said simply. “We’ll contact you in the morning and start trying to sort out something more permanent then.” He walked over to the Floo and pulled out a bag of powder to await each displaced person.  
  
“Fuck,” Draco muttered under his breath, making eye contact with several people in the crowd and jerking his head toward the door. He walked out against the throng of desperate humanity, barely containing his urge to push the filthy beasts away from him.   
  
He made sure that all of his companions were with him before apparating.   
  
“No luck then?” his mother asked them from where she sat at the head of the long dining table that had been in the Malfoy family for generations.  
  
“St. Mungo’s,” he confirmed, scratching at the beard again. He’d be glad when the potion wore off in half an hour.  
  
“We’ll get there, Draco,” she answered smoothly. “It’s only a matter of time.”

* * *

“Civil unrest among the goblins?” Harry thumped his head against the back of the couch. “How helpful.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ron said, stretching full length across the sofa, feet in Harry’s lap. Harry absently ran a finger down an arch before resting his hands on Ron’s ankles. They were clean and fed and pleasantly drowsy. The house he had once loathed, the couch they had taken from the Burrow before it was abandoned, the man sharing his life and his battles and his bed—this was Harry’s port in the storm, and nothing seemed able to touch him here but Ron. “Urg seems determined to go through with the negotiations though.”  
  
“Is this a small faction or half the population?”   
  
“Dunno,” Ron yawned. “Kingsley is trying to figure it out but doesn’t want to push too hard and offend them.”  
  
Harry didn’t have the energy to think about yet another complication in the mess that was their lives. He turned his head to look at Ron. “What’s your schedule tomorrow?”  
  
“Mmm? Oh, going over security plans. Thinking of a way to break Bill out of the dungeons. Nothing exciting.”  
  
Harry ignored the part of him that wanted Ron to be more realistic about the chances of finding Bill Weasley alive. Not that there wasn’t a good chance he was kept, the man was brilliant after all, but there were no guarantees. Still, sometimes a little hope went a long way in the here and now and damn the consequences of the long run. “I was thinking that you and your team should come to the site in the morning. We actually found something this time and I could use fresh eyes.”  
  
“And my people could stand doing something other than standing guard duty,” Ron agreed. “I’ll let them know. 0900?”  
  
“That works,” Harry said, tracing an infinity loop over and over Ron’s right ankle while he pulled out his protean charmed coin and relayed the message.  
  
Ron tossed the coin over to the coffee table when he was done. It landed on its side and wobbled a bit before it fell over. He smiled hesitantly at Harry. “Still feels like she’s helping us sometimes, doesn’t it?” He gestured to the coin. “I mean even though she’s not here, she still always is. Sort of.”  
  
Harry stilled his hands, looking down at Ron’s foot and thinking of Hermione’s image in Sirius’ room. “Yeah,” he said, taking the coward’s way out again. Not wanting to deal with recriminations tonight, the very meanest part of him not wanting to share either of them, even with each other. “She’s very. . . present.”  
  
Ron’s smile warmed Harry down to his toes. “Let’s go to bed, mate,” Ron said, swinging his legs around and planting his feet on the ground. “I think we could both use the sleep.”  
  
Harry nodded and allowed Ron to pull him up.

* *  *

“Must it always rain when we do this?” Ron asked grumpily as he followed Harry over to their teams.   
  
“Must you always complain when we do this?” Harry asked.  
  
“Just getting it out of the way before I have to be the big stoic leader in front of the troops,” Ron said, trying not to sound as weary as he felt. They had both slept well, but morning had come early and there were rotas to write and dragons to avert and he didn’t really feel like doing anything but Harry at that moment. And even Harry would probably have to wait for Ron to take a nap first.  
  
“Yes, very stoic,” Harry said under his breath. “Good morning,” he addressed the two teams. Auror Weasley’s team is here to listen to the facts and look at the site and maybe offer another perspective.”  
  
“No need to be territorial,” Ron added quickly seeing the dark looks on a few of Harry’s people’s faces. “We aren’t taking over the case, just looking at it fresh. Sometimes all you need is someone who hasn’t been staring at the same scenes over and over again.”  
  
“Auror Hawkins, if you would,” Harry motioned to her.   
  
“Yes, sir,” she said and then addressed the crowd. “As all of you know, this is the eleventh dragon attack in the past twenty-seven days. “ She flicked her wand and a transparent map appeared before the group, shining spots popping up where each attack had taken place. “This was similar to the other attacks – unexpected, unrelenting and seemingly unprovoked. This time they messed up though,” Hawkins said, her eyes positively gleeful. “This time they left the object that they had cast a combination homing and pain inducing spell. It could only felt by the specific dragons that attacked here, the Animal Healers found evidence of spells cast on the dragons as well.”  
  
“Is it traceable, Maureen?” Harry asked.  
  
“No, sir,” she said “Regretfully, this is an unknown magical signature.”   
  
“Why was the spelled object not destroyed here – is there a connection with that somehow?” One of Ron’s team asked.  
  
Hawkins shrugged, “Honestly, it just looks like they were careless. They spelled an old stone well as opposed to a tent or something that wouldn’t survive fire. In speaking with the Dragon Handlers, once dragons start attacking, even if the provocation is gone, they won’t stop until forced. Or until there’s nothing left.”   
  
Ron let the words flow over him, listening without participating, as he stared at the map. “When’s the last time you mapped this Hawkins?”  
  
“Sir?” she turned to the map and stopped, seeing what Ron did. “Not like this, not in awhile,” she said wildly "How did we miss it?”  
  
“Because it’s simple,” Harry answered. “And we don’t have an office anymore to put pins in maps.”  
  
“Not your fault,” Ron said absently, bringing his wand up to connect the dots. “No one could have guessed, we just have to see.”  
  
“It’s a circle,” someone said into the silence and it was, sort of. A lopsided circle but with a definite center point.  
  
“But what is it surrounding?” Hawkins asked.  
  
Ron looked over to find Harry staring back grimly. No one had ever mapped it. No one could map it because of the specific wards, but Ron knew that countryside like he knew the garden at the Burrow. “Hogwarts,” Harry said flatly.

* * *

“It is us or them!”  
  
If Urg had known that his nephew would be inciting unrest against him, he would not have saved him from drowning when he was a boy. “Silence,” he snapped out loudly. “This council will come to order.” He turned his attention to Griznok, his sister’s son. “You question the will of the High Council, Nephew?” He growled.  
  
“I do,” Griznok said. “I question the will of anyone who would allow us to be enslaved by the humans again.”  
  
“Insolent boy,” said Council Member Kruk. “We are Goblin, we have never and will never be slaves to those creatures.”  
  
“We kept their wealth and kept none for our troubles,” Griznok’s voice rose, “They stole from us and we did nothing.”  
  
“We ran a business and also used them for their abilities to find treasure, surely you recognize the difference,” Sig reasoned. “When the situation became intolerable we went to war. Now that they are scattered and weak and ready to talk, we will negotiate terms.”  
  
“I shall not abide by a negotiation with those animals.”  
  
“You would disobey?” Urg asked.  
  
“I would challenge you,” Griznok shouted defiantly, “Each and every one of you will be challenged by goblins who put our best interests first.”  
  
“Best interests are never served by unending war,” Kruk said.  
  
“But they are by the eradication of the wizard population,” Griznok shot back.  
  
“They wield a sort of magic we can’t, there would be no eradication,” Sig said sitting on the edge of her chair.  
  
“Don’t bother reasoning with him,” Urg said in disgust. “The council has ruled. You will abide by our decisions.”  
  
“This is not over,” Griznok said calmly to his uncle. “There are many who feel as I do and we will not rest until the witches and wizards are dead.

* * *

Harry and Ron sat in Kinsley and Percy’s living room, briefing the Minister. “You’re sure it’s Hogwarts?” he asked.  
  
“As sure as we can be of the exact location of an unplottable point,” Ron answered.  
  
“But to what end?”  
  
“We can’t think of a thing,” Harry said. “Our teams can’t either. What purpose could any of this possibly serve?”  
  
“Keep thinking,” Kingsley said, “and find out if the other teams have any ideas.”  
  
Ron nodded, “I’ve sent out the word to the other leaders and they’ll be getting back to us with any theories in the morning.”  
  
Kingsley sighed and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Right. In the meantime, Urg has assured me through our normal communications that the talks are still on, the Order is sniffing around but can’t find any intelligence, as usual, and the Death Eaters are being abnormally quiet. We’re assuming it’s them behind the dragon attacks, correct?”  
  
“For lack of a better scapegoat,” Harry said. “The Order still thinks they’re the force for good in this fight and only attacks Ministry targets.”  
  
“You two want to stay for dinner? I think Percy will be home soon. We can make him cook.”

* * *

Ron was hitting the heavy bags, wrapped fists striking hard, feeling the burn of lactic acid in his shoulders as he kept his hands high. It was late afternoon and he needed the workout. Harry still insisted on running and Kingsley was off being the Minister and all of the Auror teams were augmenting law enforcement patrols around the fragile refugee camps, so Ron was on his own for a workout.   
  
He heard the gasps before he saw the patronus. An owl. Percy’s. “Get word to the gym– the Order found out about it yesterday – saw one of the Auror’s go in completely randomly, and is planning a strike.”  
  
“Oh bugger,” Ron moaned as the owl disappeared and he turned to see a mostly muggle crowd staring at him. “I have been alerted of a. . . threat. We need to evacuate.”   
  
“Was that an owl?”  
  
“Where did it go?”  
  
“What sort of threat?”  
  
“Uh, a serious one,” Ron said, searching his admittedly sub-standard knowledge of muggles. “We need to get out.”  
  
“A bomb threat?” the gym owner, Wentworth, thank Merlin.   
  
“Yes! Everyone evacuate quickly and quietly. There was a threat. Of a bomb.”  
  
He looked over at Wentworth who raised both eyebrows but continued to herd people out of the building with efficient speed so Ron sprinted to the empty changing room, pulled his wand from his bag and cast a searching spell.   
  
There was energy building right in the gym. He ran out of the changing room, “Get out!” he yelled to Wentworth who turned on his heel and ran. Ron tried to dismantle the spell, a destructor with a timer, but the caster had been clever and it was too late to untangle the threads, so he channeled everything he had into a shield over the destructor spell and closed his eyes.

* * *

Harry was going to kill them all, he decided. He didn’t give a rat’s arse if it was Ginny and Luna and any number of old friends, this was the last time. They had finally gone too far to let them continue. He pushed his nose into the back of Ron’s neck, draping his arm and his leg over to tug him close. It was just a concussion and some scrapes and bruises and Wentworth had got glass in his leg, but everyone else was safe. The gym was even still standing – Ron’s shield had blocked the fire, just not the force.  
  
If Percy hadn’t sent word in time. . . Harry shied from the thought and concentrated on Ron’s breathing. Skin to skin in all the best ways possible. If Hermione’s theory was true, if all possibilities and all states exist, then there were universes out there where a Harry had lost a Ron and was sleeping alone tonight. He couldn’t bear the thought.   
  
“Ron,” he said softly into his ear.  
  
“Uh?” Ron answered groggily but immediately – they all were light sleepers these days.   
  
“Next week, after the negotiations are done, I’m going to show you something.” He wanted to show him now. Let Ron see the last of his secrets, open up Sirius’ room, hang Hermione in the kitchen so she could argue with the both of them at breakfast. But he’d wait a bit longer. Just a bit. Just until there was some semblance of calm in the world and they could talk about the whys and wheres.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Ron asked, snaking a hand behind him, over Harry’s hip to slide along the sensitive skin of his arse.   
  
“Something you haven’t seen,” Harry laughed, but pushed back into the caress, enjoying the catch of calluses and the warmth of a big palm.   
  
“Can you show me this next week too?” He asked, squeezing lightly.  
  
“I can do that,” Harry gasped as Ron’s clever fingers slid between his cheeks before remembering himself and grabbing his wrist to bring it back in front of him. “You’re injured,” he said sternly.   
  
“You propositioned me,” Ron said grumpily, pushing back against Harry’s suddenly interested cock.   
  
“I did not,” Harry gasped, running his fingers over Ron’s tight nipples.  
  
“Did so,” Ron said. Harry heard a suspiciously familiar sound and propped himself up high enough to peer over and see Ron fisting his erection as he grinded back against Harry. “Woke me up,” Ron rolled over until he had pinned Harry to the bed. “Said you wanted to show me something.”  
  
The kiss was dark and dirty and heavy with the taste of interrupted sleep. Ron’s shaggy hair fell forward and around and tickled Harry’s temples. He thrust up helplessly against him. Ron sucked kisses up his jaw, stopping to nibble on a lobe before pressing his mouth right against Harry’s ear. “Harry,” he said, and flicked a tongue. “Harry, you woke me up and you were _naked_.”  
  
“When you put it that way,” Harry gasped and rolled them over as gently as he could, settling between Ron’s legs and licking his own palm. “Let me do the work,” he said, reaching between them and taking both erections in hand. “Let me make you feel good.”  
  
Ron’s hands settled on his arse and he rocked up into Harry’s hand and body. “Whatever you want Harry,” he smiled up at him, blue eyes still half closed, “Anything you want.”

* * *

Draco watched as Pansy’s face and body melted into that of a stranger before swallowing his own polyjuice and gritted his teeth through the change. He turned to see the other five changed into their identities. It had been so easy to kidnap them—another large family without a home, wandering from camp to camp. They caught them on the road and now kept them in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. He’d just as soon kill the lot, but Father had said, rightfully, that they needed to be kept so that they could keep growing the hair for their potions. The ungrateful wretches begged every time he went in to cut more hair. They were better off now. At least they had a roof and food.  
  
“Everyone set?” they nodded, increasingly familiar in their polyjuiced appearances. “You know the drill. We have three days to establish ourselves here. Pansy, you cast the homing spell this time. We’ll signal to let them know, the dragons will be released, we’ll take shelter in that cave during the attack,” he nodded with his chin. “Blaise, you stay behind this time to let us now when the Aurors have arrived and we’ll all come back and look pathetic and hopefully everything will work out correctly this time. “Questions?” No one moved. “Let’s go.”   
  
They stepped out of the woods and joined the throng of people setting up tents. 

* * *

Something was on Harry’s mind. Ron watched him fidget more then usual as Percy debriefed the Minister, the department heads and the senior Aurors. His eyes were a little manic—the way they got when he had been thinking of something hard, had been too long in his own head.   
  
Ron re-focused on Percy as the head of the Department of Mysteries gave his opinion. His brother was not doing very well. Straight and narrow Percy was smart enough and organized enough to be a spy, but he didn’t have the heart for it. He saw Ginny nearly every day, reported on Ginny every week and could barely look their mum in the eye any more because of it.  
  
He was also neck deep in guilt about Ron’s close call, despite the fact that Ron was clearly completely healthy and alive. The Order was horrifically unorganized, Percy obviously wasn’t going to straighten them out, make them more efficient, but it would have been a lot easier to hear about all the planned ops if they were operating under one head and one clear goal. He was going to have to talk to his brother. It was probably time to visit the family again – let Teddy and Victoire climb all over Uncle Percy and remind him that they were doing it all for them.   
  
His attention was caught again when Harry cleared his throat and said, “I have a suggestion that you are not going to want to hear.”  
  
“Harry,” the Minister said wearily, “You know we want to hear any and all suggestions, no matter how outlandish.”  
  
“It isn’t outlandish, sir,” Harry said, steadily not looking at Ron or Percy. Ron frowned. “It’s something we should have done a long time ago but haven’t been able to make ourselves. We haven’t been able to go there.” He swallowed, but he was completely in control now, like Harry always was once he had decided on his path. “We need to take out The Order.”  
  
Kingsley looked down ate table, “Yes, Percy’s working on that—”  
  
“You know what I mean, sir,” Harry said steadily. “We’ve been faking it. We’ve been thinking that they’ll change their minds and stop acting up —like they’re, they’re _children_ or something as opposed to adults who chose to fight against us.”  
  
There was a rock in Ron’s stomach, and a glance around the table showed that everyone was equally stricken. Everyone but his brave, do-whatever-it-takes Harry who he could hate in this moment nearly as much as he loved him.  
  
“All it would take is dropping the right information. We know who they are and where they operate from. We know that Luna is their secret keeper and that Percy can come and go as he pleases.”  
  
‘Harry,” Percy started, but Harry rose from his chair and planted his hands on the table. He leaned forward and kept talking. Right over Percy in his calm, blank voice.  
  
“We know that they have destroyed some of our buildings when they could figure out where they were. We know that they almost killed Ron, Wentworth and thirty-two muggles yesterday simply because Aurors go to that gym. When will we stop thinking of them as who they were and start thinking of them as who they are?” He gritted the last part out, and Ron could see the tension in the lines of his back.  
  
“And who are they, Mr. Potter?” Minister Kingsley asked and Ron hated him then too. Instead. The rage redirecting, as fast as a salamander in the grate. He hated the minister, hated all of them, himself included, for making Harry be the one to say what they all knew.   
  
Harry slumped back into his chair with seeming nonchalance, raising his chin, lips curving into a self-mocking smile. “The enemy. Sir.”   
  
Ron let out a shaky breath and then reached over to cover Harry’s hand with his, letting him know that they were in this together. Always. Harry started, eyes jerking up to Ron’s face before settling down again, turning his hand to lace their fingers together.   
  
“He’s right, sir,” Ron said. “We can’t go on like this, fighting three enemies, possibly four depending on the goblin politics. Strategically, eliminating our weakest threat and being able to re-focus on the more skilled enemies is the only sane thing to do.”  
  
“Ron,” Percy said. “They think they’re doing the right thing. We can’t just kill them.” Ginny’s name hung between them, more palpable for not being spoken.  
  
“We don’t have to, Perce. From your accounts and our encounters, they just aren’t that good. They haven’t been fighting a war, just plotting against us. We’re better trained and more experienced by far.”  
  
Maggie Flannigan, another of the Auror team leaders, jumped in, “We’ll clean up Azkaban – the Dementors aren’t going back there – and put them in prison.”  
  
“It’s where they belong,” Harry said quietly and Ron squeezed his hand and mostly ignored the place in his heart that would always and forever belong to his little sister.   


* * *

“They are going to challenge us. According to the old law,” Sig said in the high Council chamber.  
  
“The old law hasn’t been invoked in two hundred years,” Kruk said, outrage in his voice.  
  
“That’s why it’s called old,” Urg said. He turned his attention back to Sig. “Do they have enough followers to challenge us all?”  
  
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe even enough goblins to stand in for them, should they fall to our axes. Enough to bathe us in the blood of our people.”  
  
“Are the humans worth that?” Caxgut asked with concern. No goblin was afraid of personal combat, it was as part of their culture as maths and silverwork.  
  
“Giznok isn’t looking at the greater picture,” Urg said. “To refuse to deal with humans after we agreed to negotiate would be stooping to their level. We are the deals we make. We are only as good as our honesty.”  
  
“They’re not Goblin,” Sig said thoughtfully. 

“They also won’t ever be eradicated—not by us,” Kruk agreed. 

“Where does this leave us then?” Urg asked, looking at his old friends. Some of whom hadn’t voiced their opinion yet.  
  
“At an impasse,” Caxgut said grimly.

* * *

“At least it isn’t raining,” Harry said doubtfully as he stood guard with Ron. He’d been trying to get him to talk all day after that meeting, going so far as to volunteer with him when the junior Auror scheduled to stand that night had called off with a terrible head cold.   
  
Ron looked at Harry like he was insane. “Well now it’s going to.”  
  
Harry shrugged, “Just making conversation.” He squirmed a little under Ron’s frank appraisal. “Look, just be angry with me and get it over with.”  
  
“Why am I angry with you?” Ron asked.  
  
“You know, the whole Order thing.”  
  
“But you’re right, mate,” Ron said. “I don’t like it, but you are completely right.”   
  
They both spun as the goblin called for them and hurried over. “Everything all right?” Harry asked, still squeamish about working with the beings that had been steadily trying to kill him for years, but it was better than the alternative.  
  
“I thought I saw something,” the goblin said. “My eyes are good in the dark, but not as good as some of your spells.”  
  
Harry flicked his wand subtly and a map of the area appeared on the ground between the three. Ron sent a questing spell out that whirled around them before landing on the map, illuminating it with about a dozen crouching dots surrounding their position.  
  
“Bloody hell,” swore Ron, digging his pocket for the protean coin and sending an SOS.  
  
“Can you tell what they are?” the goblin asked.  
  
“Not without letting ‘em know we know they’re here.” Harry said.  
  
“Do it,” the goblin nodded. “I’d rather see my enemies head on.”  
  
Harry thought the same thing. He pointed his wand straight up in the air and illuminated the entire clearing.  
  
“Goblins!” shouted Ron and the three on the hill stood back to back as they were charged from below.  
  
“We’re beginning to think that you goblins don’t want to stop fighting us,” Harry said.  
  
“Some don’t,” the goblin said, on the edge of his toes with that strange, edgy strength that served them well in the field. “I’m not one of them.”   
  
Ron’s team began popping in around them and the advancing goblins paused as the numbers were suddenly turned against them before turning to disappear back into the darkness. One of them fell abruptly and lay still.   
  
“Who did that,” Ron whirled. “Tell me none of you actually cast an offensive spell.”  
  
“That was me, Auror,” the goblin said. “I will be taking him back with me to talk with the High Council.” He peered up gravely at Harry and Ron as the other Aurors drew closer. “We take our word seriously,” he said.   
  
“I see that you do,” Harry said, smiling.  
  
“What’s your name? “ Ron asked.  
  
“I am Hodrod.”  
  
“Well Hodrod, I’m Weasley, and this is Potter.”  
  
“I do not wish to be friends,” Hodrod said seriously.  
  
“No need for that,” Harry said, “we’ll settle for trustworthy ally.”   
  
They watched the goblin walk down the hill and throw the unconscious goblin over his shoulder and climb back up to them. He dropped it on the ground at his feet. “I believe that that is your side of the perimeter.” He said, pointing.  
  
“Right,” Harry nodded. “We’ll just be other there. Have a nice night.” The goblin nodded his response and resumed his post and Harry and Ron walked back to their side of the hill, trailing Aurors.   
  
“Thanks for the rescue,” Ron said. “You can go back home and go to sleep. Dawson, I’ll see you in four hours.”   
  
One by one, they popped away, leaving Harry and Ron watching in the dark. Just like old times.

* * *

Percy apparated into The Order of the Phoenix’s headquarters, the old, ramshackle house of the Lovegoods. Most of the Order members lived there, evidenced by the tents in the yard and the magically added rooms to the top of the house’s already tilting frame. It reminded him of The Burrow – filled to bursting with people, with Ginny hurrying down the path to meet him.  
  
“Hi Perce,” she said, and Percy, who didn’t have the luxury of distance that the rest of the Ministry had, that the rest of his family had, was struck again by the betrayal he was about to perpetrate. He didn’t want to do this, even though he knew that Harry was right. He didn’t want to betray his sister, but to not act was a betrayal of his brother and his husband and the Ministry.  
  
The problem was that Percy had sided against family before with the Ministry. He alone of the Weasleys knew what Ginny was going through. He knew how it felt to break his parents’ hearts and be so angry at them for not listening to reason, for forcing him to choose between what was right and family. Except that he had been wrong then and Ginny was wrong now. And he knew that. He really did, but these bright and funny and passionate people living in Luna and her father’s improbable house with a garden full of gnomes believed. They were certain that they were right. They mourned what they considered the necessity of forcing the Ministry out of places they could gather. They really thought that they could sit down with the goblins and come to an accord; goblins who had only ever barely tolerated humans in the first place. Goblins they could offer nothing but good will too. The naiveté would be charming if it weren’t so blasted destructive.  
  
They didn’t know about the negotiations, of course. The government was not in the habit of divulging information in general these days, let alone to a terrorist organization. Percy had wanted so badly to tell his sister, hoping that it would be enough to make the group change their minds, to come back and apologize and unite the community again under one cause.   
  
“Did you hear that we ferreted out the Ministry’s gym?” Ginny asked eagerly, linking her arm through his and pulling him toward the house. “Yet another place they now know they aren’t safe.”  
  
“You almost killed innocent muggles, Ginny,” Percy said. “You could have killed any number of people. I thought that we were trying to end violence, not perpetrate it.”  
  
“Such a pacifist these days,” Ginny laughed as they entered the house and walked into the kitchen. “Nothing really happened. No one was killed or even hurt too badly.”  
  
“Ron could have been killed,” Percy said firmly, pulling his arm away from his sister, looking for any sign of remorse.  
  
“Percy,” she said grabbing his forearms with both hands, “you know I would hate that. I was so glad that no one was seriously injured, but Ron made his choice. He chose to fight on the side of the Ministry. You know how corrupt it is, letting Voldemort take over and now Shacklebolt –”  
  
“The two don’t even begin to compare,” Percy began hotly.  
  
“I know,” she said petting his arm, trying to sooth him like she would a child. “I do know that. But he continued the policies of repression of magical creatures. He brought this war down around our heads, him and Harry.”  
  
“None of us saw this coming, Ginny,” Percy said stating into her eyes, willing her to believe him, to see the truth, “Not you or me or Shacklebolt or Harry. Not even Dad. No one knew.”  
  
She stepped away from him, tilting her head. “You’re beginning to sound like a government apologist,” she said.   
  
“I’m not,” Percy said, gathering himself together. “I just don’t like this ends justifying the means philosophy that is becoming more prevalent around here. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place—Harry stealing a sword and never returning it, even when Bill told him about goblin culture. But it wasn’t malicious, and I don’t like attacking friends and family.”  
  
Ginny was silent and led him into the kitchen, which was surprisingly empty. She cast a privacy spell around them. “Sit down, Percy.” He sat with her at the table. “There are rumors going around that we have a spy.”  
  
His heart rose in his throat, but he met her eyes levelly, “And you think it’s me.”  
  
“I didn’t,” Ginny said. “I don’t want to.” She took his hand across the table. “You are the only family I have left, but you are also the only one here who protests so. . .vocally about doing what we need to do take out the Ministry so that the goblins will see us as the people to talk to. So they’ll see that we are serious about peace.” Percy remained quiet. “Someone tipped them off about the destructor spell.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Percy asked.  
  
“Pretty sure. No one would have found it if they weren’t actively looking for it.”  
  
“Well,” Percy said, pointing his wand over his shoulder to start the kettle, “I won’t say that I’m sorry about that, Gin. A lot of people would have been dead if someone hadn’t managed to find the spell.”  
  
“But it wasn’t you?” She persisted, eyes growing hard in that way he absolutely hated.  
  
“Don’t see how it could be,” Percy said. “I didn’t find out about the plan until late, possibly even right after it happened.” He looked at her pointedly over his glasses, “The Order is horrifically unorganized – that’s part of why we’ve made so little progress.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny said, standing up to grab mugs. “We all know your thoughts on that.”  
  
“You need to listen to me, Ginny,” Percy said, “because I have information and I don’t care to hand it over if the leadership of this organization is going to botch it as badly as they do most of their intelligence.”  
  
She swung her head around to watch him pour boiling water into the mugs. “What news?”  
  
“Sure you can trust it?” he asked, putting a little sneer into his voice. “Suspicious pacifist like me?”  
  
“Come off it, Perce and tell me,” she demanded.   
  
“It seems that the Ministry is going to attempt to start up talks with the goblins again.”  
  
She snorted, “Talks—more like blast the doors of Gringotts down and stun on sight.”  
  
“You can argue the art of negotiating with them later,” Percy said. “Whatever you want to call it. Whatever _they_ want to call it, they are going to Gringotts the day after tomorrow at noon.”  
  
Ginny waved the silencing spell away from the room and yelled at the top of her lungs for everyone to get to the kitchen. Her eyes snapped with excitement as she turned to her brother. “This could be it, Percy. This could be _it_! When the goblins see that we will protect them from our own government, they’ll realize how serious we are, they’ll talk to us. We’ll finally be done with this bloody war.” She began filling in the members as they entered the kitchen.  
  
Percy returned to his seat, mug in hand, watching as the excitement caught fire around the room. He watched them spark off each other, spirits running high at the prospect of facing down combat trained and seasoned Aurors with superior numbers. “Yeah, Gin,” he said softly into the chattering crowd, his sister laughing in the middle of it all as he fought down bile, “we’ll finally be done.” 

* * *

“Are we supposed to have dinner with your mother tonight?” Harry asked, walking through the front door of Grimmuald Place, grass hanging from the edge of his robes, a souvenir from tromping about the countryside all day, basically waiting for dragons to attack.  
  
“No dragons today?” Ron called from the couch, knees hooked over the arm so that the only thing Harry could address were his sock clad feet. Pig, winging dizzy circles in the sky over his master’s head, pinged forward. He landed on Harry’s head and hooted excitedly before streaking out into the night air.  
  
“Not that I saw,” Harry said, closing the front door behind the small owl and then walking around the couch to flop on a chair. “I did get to sign some autographs and several old dears pinched my cheek and called me sweet.”  
  
Ron snorted, “The only thing sweet about you is the curve of your arse.”  
  
“Why Ron Weasley, that was very nearly romantic,” Harry said, “Dinner? Your mum’s?” he prodded.  
  
“Cancelled it,” he pulled a cushion over his head as he said it.  
  
Harry, stuck between too tired to move and wanting to sit on Ron’s stomach to force the issue compromised and levitated the cushion up and out of reach. “Hallo there,” he said cheerfully, “why are we canceling?”  
  
“And Hermione used to call me a teaspoon,” Ron muttered, eyes accusing as they met Harry’s. “We’re going to arrest my sister tomorrow. Excuse me if I don’t want to look into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to us both.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said, letting the cushion drop and ignoring Ron’s muffled protest. “Sorry,” he muttered looking into the grate, fire burning brightly. “I forgot.”  
  
“Well isn’t that just wonderful for you?” Ron said. “Must be nice to not have the fact that we are going to be fighting our friends tomorrow not bothering you.”  
  
“I never said it didn’t bother me, Ron,” Harry said sharply, “between the dragon attacks and the goblins I’ve other things on my mind as well.”  
  
“Just because you’re ignoring it doesn’t mean it isn’t going to happen.”  
  
“Yeah, well just because you’re wallowing in it doesn’t make you morally superior.” They glared at each other across the room before Harry closed his eyes and let his head drop to the back of the chair. “I didn’t mean that,” he offered.  
  
“I know,” Ron’s voice was closer and Harry opened his eyes in time to watch him crawl onto the chair with Harry.   
  
“A bit big to be sitting on laps?” Harry asked, an arm circling Ron’s waist as his lanky boyfriend tucked his head under his chin. Harry stroked a hand through all that red hair. “What can I do, love?” He pressed a kiss to Ron’s head.   
  
“Everything’s set for tomorrow.” Ron’s tone was businesslike, even pressed against Harry’s throat. “The goblins know we’ll be out there—Kingsley thought it would be best not to make them think we’re attacking. Plus maybe serve as another point of commonality, dealing with civil unrest.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“It’s going to be our teams, Harry. We’re going to be the initial engagement.”  
  
Harry slid his fingers under Ron’s chin and coaxed it up so he could see his eyes. “Why would you do that to yourself?”  
  
“It has to be us, Harry,” Ron said, “I couldn’t stand it if it were any other way.”  
  
“This is going to break your heart.” Harry said. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”  
  
“I’m doing it to you too,” Ron answered, “don’t think that I don’t remember that you loved her once upon a time.”   
  
“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “I might have, I think. It all seems so long ago now I hardly know anymore.” But Ron hadn’t stopped loving Ginny like Harry had and Ginny hadn’t stopped being Ron’s sister like she’d stopped being Harry’s girlfriend. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ron said, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, breath warm against his neck. “I’m sure.”

* * *

The sun hadn’t risen yet when Pansy Parkinson, wearing the skin of some pathetic, homeless twit, stepped out of her tent. She looked around the settlement. No one was stirring. Not even her lazy comrades. They had all done this too many times for nerves to get the better of any of them anymore, becoming almost too comfortable in a routine of fire and death.   
  
She made her way to what she judged to be the center of the makeshift town and to her intended target, a small two person tent, at least from the outside. She hadn’t bothered looking inside.  
  
Pansy always felt better about setting the spell herself, choosing something flammable, leaving no evidence of the game afoot. The others were getting lazy, and lazy might get them caught before they reached their goal.   
  
“ _Venire domus_.” The tent glowed dully momentarily. The spell set, she made her slow way to the edge of the woods, silently cursing the aching bones of the woman she inhabited.  
  
She whistled long and low and was answered by the soft rustle of wings, her dark feathered owl landing on a boulder in front of her. Pansy scribbled hastily, rolled parchment up and tied it to the bird’s leg. “Malfoy Manor,” she instructed, feeding the owl a treat. It nipped affectionately at her fingers before taking off, low to the ground and nearly silent.  
  
Pansy walked back to their shared tent and climbed back into bed next to Draco. He rolled over and slung an arm over her waist. “Done?”  
  
“It’s done,” she said, settling in. “I’d say we have about eight hours.”  
  
“Sleep,” Draco said, kissing the corner of her mouth. “There’s time.”

* * *

“Stop fiddling,” Shacklebolt said.  
  
“I’m not,” Ron replied, tugging at his robe.  
  
“Weasley, you are the one who insisted on it being you and Potter’s teams, do not make me regret going against my own better judgment in this matter.”  
  
Ron let go of his robe and stood up straight. Thirty minutes, his internal clock, on count down since the minute Kingsley had approved this plan, helpfully supplied. Thirty minutes until he fucking arrested his fucking sister. And all the gods curse her for forcing this on him. Stupid bloody Weasley stubbornness.   
  
Fingers circled his wrist and he looked over to see Harry looking at him intently. Guiltily. Always guilty, Harry was, especially for the things that weren’t remotely his fault. “Okay?” he asked. Harry always did ask.  
  
“Fantastic,” Ron said and Harry just nodded in grim understanding before stepping away to address his team. Ron supposed he should probably do that too.   
  
“Anyone who belongs to me, with the exception of Potter,” he bellowed. Harry shot him a look over his shoulder but kept right on briefing. Ron’d pay for that one at home, and wasn’t it nice to have something to look forward to at the end of the day.  
  
“Remember, they don’t know we’re expecting them, so act like you’re on a security detail, per usual. Simpson and Warner, you’re on point with Potter’s two, Kincaid and Combs. Everyone else, standard positions—we may be setting a trap, but the Minister's and his deputies safety is always the top priority. When they come, assuming they come,” he knew damn well they’d come. Percy said they were desperate for this fight. “Berens, you will send your patronus to Flannigan who will bring in everyone else. Don’t send it until we’ve engaged them for five minutes—don’t want them running off. Once the other teams are in, the Minister of Magic will be powering up the anti-apparate wards. They won’t be able to get in or out, but neither will we. The objective here is capture, people, so stick to non-damaging spells and remember that there are some powerful witches and wizards in there so be careful. Any questions?”  
  
“Sir, what if the goblins attack?” one of the junior Aurors asked.  
  
“Thanks for always looking on the bright side, Simpson,” Ron said dryly. “If the goblins attack, abort the mission, Kingsley will drop the wards, you’ll take any prisoners you have and get the fuck out. Clear?” Ron let his eyes run over his team, meeting every member’s eyes before nodding. “Good luck,” he said. “Get ready to move.”  
  
“Inspirational, as always,” Harry said from behind him.  
  
“Shut up, you,” Ron said, hands resting over his swirling stomach. “We can’t all inspire people to march out into the woods seeking dark lords.” Harry moved closer, looking concerned, putting his hand gently over Ron’s. “Harry, if you ask me if I’m okay one more time, I might lose it entirely.”  
  
“I was just going to remark upon that appallingly possessive comment you just made. In front of our teams and our boss no less,” he said lightly, the fingertips stroking over Ron’s knuckles making a liar out of him, but the restraint was appreciated and the touch was grounding in a way only Harry could be.   
  
“Nothing everyone didn’t already know,” Ron said, twisting a wrist to catch Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Harry smiled, green eyes soft behind the glasses and Ron lowered his head, resting his mouth on the lightning scar for a moment, Ron’s own personal talisman, before pulling back with a kiss to its familiar jagged line. “This isn’t very professional of us,” he said softly.  
  
“Special occasion,” Harry said, reaching up to tug on Ron’s neck and kissing him, hard and fast on the mouth before stepping back. “Time to go.”  
  
Ron looked around to see if team leaders being overly sentimental in public had turned any stomachs, but everyone was either too busy to notice or simply did not care. He raised his voice over the din. “Apparate to your assigned locations on Potter’s mark,” he barked. “Minister,” he addressed Kingsley, “Standard stuff. You stay out of the line of fire.”  
  
Kingsley nodded, “I know the drill, Weasley. I do know a thing or two about being an Auror.”  
  
“That’s what concerns us, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Just hide behind Jones over there,” he motioned toward a hulking blonde, “and all shall be well.”  
  
“Five,” Harry began and the room settled into a tense stillness. “Four,” one of Harry’s team sent a patronus to inform the other teams they were moving out and to be ready, “Three. Two. One. Mark.”  
  
The marble of Gringotts was suddenly before him, his team blinking into existence around him, Harry by his side. Only Ministry employees in sight. “Whenever you’re ready, sir,” Ron turned around and addressed Kingsley.  
  
A sharp crack reverberated in the alley and he whirled, wand high. The Order had arrived, fanned out in a line on the white steps. Blocking the path to the bank.  
  
“Stand down,” Kingsley said, cool baritone in full control. “We do not wish to fight you.”  
  
“We reject your authority over us,” Mr. Lovegood answered. “We do not recognize you as a rightful government. We will not let you enter this place to cause the goblins harm.”  
  
“We are not here to harm them,” Kingsley said, making an abortive attempt to move forward. He scowled at Jones for keeping him there. “We have a chance for peace for all us. Lay down your wands and we can approach the goblins as a united front.”  
  
“We reject your authority over us,” Lovegood repeated and the Order moved into very recognizable dueling stances.

* * *

Ginevra Weasley was still one of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. Her hair snapped around her too thin face like rage and her eyes shone bright with the despair of the damned as she squared off against her brother. “Don’t do it, Ginny,” Harry heard Ron plea softly, heart in his voice, and god, Harry could kill her. End what had once been a blurry, not quite formed vision of a possible future before the world had gone straight to hell.   
  
Harry locked his eyes on his own opponent, a friendly acquaintance lost years ago to a misguided cause. “Granger would have been ashamed of you,” Terry said, the disappointment so thick in his voice that Harry nearly took him apart for his self-righteous certainty. He wondered what was wrong with him, that the others were still so reluctant to hurt these people who had turned so completely against them.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Percy Weasley said sharply, popping into existence on the steps, behind the line of the Order, startling in his suddenness. We are friends. Family. Ginny,” Percy paused, lost for words, “you are pointing your wand in anger at your own brother.” _Put up your wand Percy_ , Harry thought franticly. _Put up your wand_.  
  
“They’re blind,” Ginny said. “They’re all blind. Or stupid. Perce, we’ve talked about this. I know it’s hard, but our brother has lost his way.”  
  
“He hasn’t, Gin.” Percy moved up behind her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s you whose lost.”  
  
“Traitor,” she hissed, eyes not leaving Ron, but shoulders going up with tension as she began to see what this was. “I ignored the rumor that you were a spy, I trusted you, defended you.” Two Order wizards apparated on either side of Percy and Ron struck, disarming one before swinging back to throw up a shield against Ginny’s attack.   
  
“Oh fuck,” Harry muttered as he disarmed the other wizard near Percy and then dodged Terry’s curse. “We’ve all gone mad and the goblins are going to dance on our graves,” he shouted to this wildly spelling person he had once known. “What the fuck, Boot? When did you turn into the enemy?” He blocked and blocked and blocked again. None of his or Ron’s Aurors were throwing anything but defensive spells, but that might change at any moment. The New Order was out trained and becoming increasingly outnumbered as the other Auror teams began apparating in all around Diagon Alley, but desperation in an enemy always made Harry itch. He knew all about the lengths to which a person with his back against the wall would go.  
  
A wild laughter rose in his throat and broke free into the echo of battle as the Order members tried and failed to leave the alley, rising above the shouted curses and flashes of wand fire. He had had enough. The Order’s continued existence had been allowed out of deference to the people in it. These people, brothers and sisters who had fought so hard and so bravely against the Death Eaters before turning against their own, had been coddled and begged and indulged, and now they were going to kill them all out of their own self-righteous misunderstanding. Harry took a fortifying breath and said good-bye to the boy who had been a part of Dumbledore’s Army.   
  
_Sectusempra_ , he thought with a quick directional wand flick, distracting Boot with a shallow cut down the length of his calf. He knew how to control that spell now, use it to confuse, to frighten, to make his enemy wonder where he would cut next. Terry looked down at the blood. Harry waited, and when Terry looked up again, he saw fear in his eyes and was glad.   
  
_Expelliarmus_ , he thought and the wand flew from Terry’s hand. “You didn’t think we’d ever really try to fight you.” Harry said, deadly calm even as he vibrated with anger fueled power that they had let it come to this. “Thought you could get by on the basis of old school ties, perhaps.”  
  
“ _Retineo_.” he said deliberately. Ropes shot from his wand and bound Boot from ankle to neck. Harry moved in, ignoring the flashes of light flying over his shoulders a shielding spell comfortably around his body second nature after years on the front line of war. He put his fingertips lightly on Terry’s bound chest and pushed, causing the bound man to hop backwards and trip, sprawling on his back on the stairs behind him. “You will have plenty of time in your cell to think about what you’ve done.” Harry snarled and cast body lock spell on top of it all—just in case. His heart clenched involuntarily at Boot’s wide-eyed fear as he lay frozen at his feet, but he brushed it immediately aside and looked to Ron, who couldn’t, wouldn’t, see his little sister as the enemy.  
  
Ron and Ginny circled around each other as the other Order members were disarmed, restrained and frozen, one by one. Tears streamed down Ginny’s face, but her wand held firm, sending quick, strong spells at her brother. Blunt and bright, the woman she had become and the girl she used to be. Ron heaved dry sobs, heart almost visibly splintering with every spell she cast even as he blocked and begged, Harry felt it in every jagged breath his best friend took.  
  
He sensed a presence at his back, suddenly aware of the silence around them, only Aurors left standing to bear witness to the fall of yet another member of the Weasley family. “Harry,” Kingsley’s voice was a command from behind him, and when Harry glanced back, the minister’s face was calm even as his grip on his wand was tight and his arm around Percy was gentle. Percy stood beside his husband in shaking, terrible silence. 

* * *

He blocked another spell, not even trying to control his hiccupping breath or shaking hands. He was better then her, honed with training and battle. She’d never win, but she was too good to be disarmed without him hurting her, at least a little, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it even though he knew it was the only way.   
  
“Ginny, you are destroying our family,” Ron said. She didn’t answer, sending another sharp curse at him with her eyes hard and wet.  
  
“Nothing’s so bad that can’t be forgiven,” he tried again. “Not now. Not after everything we’ve lost.” Another spell.  
  
“You know you’re wrong, Ginevra Weasly, I can see it in your eyes,” he roared in stark desperation. _Do not make me do this_. Ron’s heart begged. _Don’t make me hurt you_.  
  
A loud cracking distracted them both and Ron looked up in time to see Harry appear behind Ginny —disarming, binding and freezing her in a manner of seconds. She never had a chance. She hadn’t seen him coming. And that was a move so uncharacteristic of Harry, the man who had given even Voldemort a chance to repent at the end, that it took Ron a moment to realize that it had all been for him; he had stepped in so Ron didn’t have to. He met Harry's gaze, green eyes burning with anger and love.  
  
Ron walked forward to stand swaying in front of his boyfriend as he stared into the frozen features of his sister. Harry reached forward and took Ron’s wrist in his calloused fingers. A small measure of comfort, but all either could afford in that space. There were still jobs to do, people to save. They had to go on like they always had.  
  
Kingsley was addressing the rest of the Aurors. “I’ve released the wards. Start banishing these people to Azkaban.” He walked up to Ginny’s frozen form, touched her red hair, and banished her. “The law enforcement team will begin processing them for trial tonight.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat and looked over Ron’s shoulder, past the Minister. “Alright Percy?”  
  
Percy nodded, but looked at his brother. “I should have forced her out of there a long time ago.” Kingsley put a hand on his arm. “You never should have had to fight her. I’m sorry.”   
  
“So’m I,” Ron replied bleakly, numb everywhere except for the stretch of skin on his wrist that Harry was running his finger over, “but we might have a brother somewhere in there,” he said gesturing towards Gringotts with his chin. “High time we brought him home. Right, sir?” he asked Kingsley.   
  
“That’s the next thing on the list, Ron,” Kingsley said, “and the very first thing we’ll talk about at the negotiations. I know you three want to charge in there, wands blazing right this moment, but he’s waited this long. He can wait a few days more.”   
  
“Sir!” one of the few Aurors that had been left behind in case of another emergency popped into existence and scrambled over to Harry. “Dragons!”

* * *

“Get Charlie!” Harry yelled to Ron and apparated to the site, knowing his team would be right behind him. It was an inferno of tents crackling, caught alight and brought to full blaze by the flame fanning wind from dragon wings. People were running for the woods, wands out and shooting water to keep the trees wet. “Hawkins!” he yelled.   
  
“On it, sir,” she ran full tilt toward the line of trees with three other Aurors, taking stances along the tree line and throwing shields to block dragon fire whenever it got too near the branches.   
  
Smith and Wesson had already cast their patronuses, directing them up and down the line of tents, giving something for the frightened and lost refugees to follow if they were too panicked to think. Most of the remainder of the team began putting out the fires, adding great clouds of steam to the mix.  
  
Harry strode down the tents as well, the shield wrapped around him giving a little protection – enough to give him time to get away if need be. Two of his team members starting at different rows to serve the same function. They sent questing spells into the air, looking for the trapped or injured. Ron found him on the third row and matched his stride. “Charlie’s here with about ten handlers and animal healers.”   
  
“Good,” Harry replied, finding no one in the row so moving on to the next. “Looks like most, if not all, of these people escaped. I haven’t found any bodies yet.” A healer shot by them at a sprint. “Spoke too soon.”  
  
“What can I do?” Ron asked. “Don’t want to get in the way, but we’re here to help.”  
  
“Get your team to start putting out fires or help on the forest edge, if you wouldn’t mind,” Harry answered, beginning to walk more quickly when his spell paused and tugged at him. “Shit, someone’s still in a tent.” He broke into a sprint, and doused the tent with water, Ron’s water stream hitting just beside his. He ducked into the smoldering canvass and peered around a smoke filled room. He gagged at the smell of burnt flesh but followed the spell to its end – the charred remains of a human.  
  
“Fuck,” he scrambled away and out. “God _damn_ it!” It made him ill to think of it – burning to death lying on his back, the last sight on earth the roof of a musty tent. “Never gonna get used to that smell,” he told Ron, as he put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, spitting repeatedly.   
  
Ron rubbed his back a couple of times before pulling him up, all practicality and grimly pressed lips. “How many more do you need to check?”  
  
“Two rows,” Harry replied. “Go. I’ll be alright.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks like the handlers have started corralling the dragons,” he said. “They’re almost quick about it now. Lots of practice.”  
  
“I’ll be by the trees,” Ron said.   
  
“I’ll find you when I’m done,” Harry replied and Ron jogged off. Harry sighed and sent out another questing spell as the fire raged around him.

* * *

The Auror came to the huddled masses of people, once more displaced, rattling off the same instructions, capitulations, condolences, that Draco had heard eleven times before.   
  
“If you’ve no place to go tonight,” the sandy haired Auror said, soot streaked across her chin, “you’ll be staying at Hogwarts.”  
  
He felt a tug on his borrowed beard and looked over to see Pansy grinning at him in wild eyed triumph.

* * *

They sat in silence on the edge of their bed, too tired to move, Harry with only trousers and one shoe on. “We’re supposed to go to Mum’s.” Ron said.  
  
Harry sighed, “Right.”   
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Ron turned his head to look at Harry, eyes closed, water beaded on the ends of his unruly hair. He leaned in and ran his nose along the strong line of Harry’s shoulder and up his neck. “I don’t think we can get out of this one.”  
  
“Probably not,” Harry said, tilting his head. Ron nibbled obligingly, breathing in warm, washed skin. “Has Kingsley already told her ‘bout Ginny?”  
  
“Think so,” Ron said and pulled back. He really didn’t want to talk about his sister right now, or go to the new house and watch his mother being brave or George floating around, lost. Harry moved in closer and ran a hand down his back before settling into hypnotic strokes along his spine.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly, lips brushing his ear.  
  
Ron let himself be pushed down, lying back flat on the bed, feet still on the floor and Harry hovering over, glasses-less and dripping. Ron reached up and traced the scar. “Hate it when you look like that,” he said.  
  
“Like what?” Harry smiled, but his eyes were sad.  
  
“Like that—like—like your heart might break for me.”  
  
Harry slid his knuckles over Ron’s chest. “What good would a broken heart do you?”  
  
“No good at all,” Ron said firmly. He caught Harry’s hand and held it tightly. “You keep me sane. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”  
  
Harry leaned down and kissed him with a thorough sort of sweetness that made Ron ache. “Love you too,” he said against his mouth before rolling up into a sitting position. “Come on. We won’t have to stay long. Your mum’ll take one good look at us and we’ll be fed, fussed over and sent directly home to bed.” Ron sat up too, wincing at the pops in his spine. “I’ll rub your back when we get home,” he added.  
  
“What if I want you to rub something else,” Ron half-heartedly leered.  
  
Harry almost primly ignored him as he pulled a t-shirt over his head.

* * *

The torches guttered against the damp walls of the combat arena, the ground packed tight from centuries of fights and spilled blood in the deep underground of their city. A thousand glittering eyes watched from the raised stands, observing the challenge with customary silence.  
  
Sig faced the challenger to her seat on the council, a male called Quimp who would be easily defeated. It seemed a shame to kill such a young goblin, but it was he and the members of his cause who would not listen to reason and had insisted on this course.   
  
She wondered idly, skipping nimbly over his axe as it swung for her knees, if it would be more impressive to make him think he had a chance or to end it now, not even two minutes in. If blood must be spilled, it should at least be a teaching moment to those who thought themselves better.  
  
Rolling her wrist to start the series of blows that would separate Quimp’s head from his shoulders, Sig hoped that the message would be received. She lifted high on her toes and spun, using centrifugal force to best effect, just like her father had taught her and Quimp fell, head thumping into the dirt.  
  
She put a foot on his still twitching body and wiped the blood on her weapon off on his shirt before turning facing the crowd that surrounded her on all sides.  
  
Urg stepped out of the masses, voice carrying in the stillness. “The incumbent still stands. I declare this challenge over.”  
  
Sig met his sharp toothed grin with one of her own. 

* * *

Draco lowered his wand and stepped away as the white marble tomb rolled open to reveal the bones of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He stepped forward, stealing himself against a sudden bout of nerves, and reached in, fingers catching smooth wood. The old man, still sanctimonious, even from the confines of paint and canvass, had been telling the truth after all.  
  
He pulled the object up, lifting it high so that the semi circle of his friends could see it in the faint moonlight. Fifteen inches long with a core of thestral hair, made of elder wood.

* * *

Minerva McGonagell awoke with a start. She could hear a whispering in the paintings along the wall of the headmistress’s office. She must have fallen asleep with her head on the desk again. There was never enough time to sleep anymore, no matter how much she needed it these days, between the students and the security and the population of refugees growing steadily larger.   
  
“Minerva,” Dumbledore’s voice held that edge of soft command that she had always responded to, even when she questioned.  
  
“Albus?” She readjusted her glasses and blinked around at the agitated paintings on the wall. “What’s happening?” she asked, nerves sliding into place and locking strong as she stood with her wand in her hand.   
  
“We’ve been compromised,” Dumbledore said.  
  
“How?” she demanded. "No one gets in here unless. . . the refugees. Kingsley expressly promised that every one of them would be screened,” she said angrily, taking her wand in hand, making the candles and fire flare into a full blaze.   
  
“I believe he kept his word, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, “but polyjuice and patience go a long way in these times of desperation.”  
  
“The children?” She pulled on her cloak  
  
“It appears to be only a sleeping draught laced through dinner – no telling how they got it past the house elves, but no matter right now. The paintings all over the castle have been reporting that everyone is waking up. Death was not their game, at least not tonight. Not once I cooperated.”  
  
“What did you do Albus?” McGonagell asked, standing before the image of her dead best friend with her heart in her throat.  
  
“Nothing that cannot by remedied,” he assured her, “Assuming the Aurors can do their jobs and Mr. Weasley doesn’t let anything happen to Mr. Potter."  
  
“Let’s go,” he said and they made their way quickly to the front gate.

* * *

The negotiations themselves seemed strangely anti-climatic, with a handful of goblins and the highest ranking wizards safely encased in every goblin and human ward that could be thought of to ensure safety and privacy. It was a beautiful day, crisp and blue skied and clean smelling. Hopeful, even, in a dull, bureaucratic sort of way. Ron shifted subtly back and forth on the balls of his feet, sufficient to keep the blood flowing but not enough to make his stiff, formal uniform robes swing, studiously keeping his mind off of Bill so he didn’t go stark raving mad with the waiting. He itched to move, but those bloody goblins were standing still and in their assigned spots so he could too.  
  
More than wanting to move, he wanted to talk to Harry. Kingsley had briefed them this morning about the Death Eaters stealing the Elder Wand, tense with the thought of all those children being vulnerable, Harry’s lips had gone white at the thought that that wand, his wand, had apparently been the root of the dragon attacks and all those casualties, both real and potential. Ron had learned the hard way how to let go of the what-might-have-beens, but Kingsley, Harry, even Percy wore them like a horocrux locket, letting things that had never happened twist with things that had and whisper to them in their dreams with noxious persistence. It poisoned them all, Harry in particular.  
  
Sudden movement on the goblin defense line caught his eye, one of them was very surreptitiously signaling him. It looked like Hodrod, not that he was particularly good at picking goblins from a crowd, something Hermione would have chided him for.   
  
The goblin stepped back, leaving his place and making his way toward the wizard side. Ron blinked in surprise, but he followed Hodrod’s lead, motioning to his colleagues on either side to mind the gap he left and walked steadily toward the familiar goblin, hoping that this meeting would go unnoticed by the people at the negotiations table.   
  
“Hodrod,” he greeted, speaking softly.  
  
“Weasley,” the goblin acknowledged. "There is something moving in the trees."  
  
“Again?” Ron swore. “I have rotten luck here. More goblins?”  
  
“Humans this time,” Hodrod said. “Did you tell anyone about this location?”  
  
“No,” Ron said. “We have our own group of troublemakers; only the Ministry was supposed to know.”  
  
“Either you have a leak, or we do,” Hodrod said, “Anything is possible. The negotiation site became common knowledge to my people when one of the lower council made it, and his displeasure with the peace talks, public.”  
  
“Well that’s just bloody fantastic, either way we have a spy talking to Death Eaters.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Harry hissed in his ear, having left his post to join the conversation.  
  
“Hodrod sees Death Eaters,” Ron answered. “How do you want to do this?” he asked Hodrod.  
  
“We are prepared to fight to protect our leaders but do not want to be caught in a human conflict.”  
  
“Completely understandable,” Ron said, internally cursing because goblins were good in a fight, assuming they were on your side. “Alright, would you object to spreading your troops out to cover the entire perimeter? I’ll leave some Aurors behind to help and so that the wizards in there,” he said motioning toward the Minister and department heads, “don’t get the wrong idea. We’ll move out and confront the Death Eaters. Can you pinpoint them for me?”  
  
Hodrod nodded and casually surveyed the land again before leaning down to hastily sketch the area and point out the locations.   
  
“Only seventeen,” Harry said and they made their way back to the Aurors and Hodrod to the goblins, “We have four Auror teams, plus the goblins. We completely outnumber them.”  
  
“Seventeen that Hodrod could see—there could be more. But they think they have the Elder Wand,” Ron said. “They also think it’s nigh on invincible.”  
  
“It’s well documented that the wand can only be possessed if taken by force. Honestly, don’t they read?” Harry asked waspishly.  
  
Ron felt a wave of affection so strong it almost overwhelmed him. She was always there, even when she wasn’t. The urge to kiss Harry was powerful, but he resisted, contenting himself with clasping a shoulder and squeezing it hard. “We’re glad that the most powerful wand in the world belongs to you and that they don’t know it, Harry.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, but he smiled anyway. “I’ll go right with Flannigan, you go left with Santana—standard Goblin Defense Formation with a Guarding for Trolls Flank?”  
  
“Sounds good,” Ron said, forcing his attention away from the negotiations and Bill and the upcoming battle and focused completely on the man in front of him. “Be careful.”  
  
Harry brought his hand up to Ron’s where it rested on his shoulder. “You too.”  
  
Ron let the presence, the magic, the feel, the smell of Harry fill him up to bursting before letting go of his shoulder. He touched the scar of Harry’s forehead lightly, a fleeting brush of fingertips that his friend leaned into. “Good luck.”  
  
Harry nodded, “You too.” He turned away and began briefing the nearest team leader on the situation. Ron watched him before jogging down the line to Santana.  


* * *

The big difference between fighting Death Eaters and fighting the Order was that the Order still practiced mostly innocuous offensive magic—nothing that could permanently main or kill—like the last time they had trained was in Dumbledore’s Army. Harry thought that might not be all that far from the truth. He barely managed to duck in time as Malfoy sent a vicious curse over his shoulder from behind. Still a wanker then, Harry thought as he retaliated with a stinging curse, catching the blond man hard across the thighs. Probably still a coward as well. He watched him scramble further back into the surrounding woods and followed. Definitely still a mummy’s boy.   
  
They had managed to surprise the Death Eaters, who either had no knowledge of acute goblin senses or simply thought that the goblins wouldn’t care. There had been damage on their side, he had watched Smith go down, but the team medic had got there quickly, and he couldn’t think about that and still concentrate on battle. The enemy was dissapparating one by one, although Harry had seen Wesson catch one and banish her straight to Azkaban so maybe they were being imprisoned.   
  
“Harry Potter!” A loud, clearly amplified voice boomed out from the other side of the hill, Ron’s side. The curses abruptly stopped, the Death Eaters disappearing from sight. “You will come over here or Weasley will suffer the consequences!”  
  
His heart jumped up into his throat and nearly choked him. Always. It always, always, _always_ came down to this bullshit, him losing Ron or Ron losing him. And he was so sick of it, so furious, he couldn’t even see straight. “Everyone with me,” he bit out tersely to Maureen Hawkins and apparated to the other side. He arrived, snarling, to see Nacissa Malfoy with one filthy hand on Ron, keeping him partially upright as he swayed on his feet with his eyes closed, the Elder Wand pressed against his temple.  
  
He’d been _sectusempred_ , or something very near, and the blood was oozing at an alarming rate from the gash in his chest. “Look familiar, Potter?” Draco mocked with obvious enjoyment from next to his mother, Lucius smirking from behind, a gaggle of Death Eaters flanking the family. The Death Eaters seemed completely unconcerned by the Aurors surrounding them, wands raised and silent, and the others apparating in behind Harry. They believed absolutely in the power of their leader and of her wand with the destructive single-mindedness that had led to their defeat in the past.  
  
Harry looked only at Narcissa. “You saved me once, Mrs. Malfoy. You betrayed your Dark Lord and told him that I was dead.”  
  
“I didn’t save you,” she said calmly, “I saved my son.”  
  
“So a situational Death Eater then?” he asked, willing his temper under control, holding on by a thread as Ron’s blood drip, drip, dripped from his body.  
  
“I am, as always, dedicated to the purification of the wizard race and the advancement of my family’s interests, Potter.”  
  
“What do you want?” he asked.   
  
“I am offering you a deal,” she said, fingernails into an arm. “This,” she said, shaking Ron slightly “for you.”  
  
“Done,” he said without hesitation. Ron’s eyes shot open and he glared white hot daggers at Harry, “although I have no idea what advantage you gain from having me. Now let him go.”  
  
“You don’t wish to hear the details?” Narcissa asked, amused.  
  
“Not necessary,” Harry said airily, trying to project calm and peaceful to Ron who was, presuming they got out of this alive, going to murder him at the first opportunity. “I assume it’s the standard dire straits, torture, experimentation, dirty sock washer, scullery maid; the usual.”  
  
Nacissa and Ron were both glowering now. “I want you to fight me, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“I can most definitely do that,” Harry said, eyes narrowed. He flicked a glance at the Auror directly behind Narcissa, Jones, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and settled his attention back wholly on the witch in front of him. Harry would not underestimate this opponent who had somehow got the better of Ron, who fought dirty, had the talented blood of the Blacks flowing through her veins and who had defied Voldemort himself. But she was using the Elder Wand, and that wand had but one master at a time.   
  
“Excellent. This is how it will go, my husband will take charge of your lover, you will fight with the Elder Wand and let me defeat you with mine, so that I may possess the power. If you in any way attempt to hurt me, Lucius will kill your precious Weasley.”  
  
Harry stared at her, so sure of herself, absolutely convinced that she held all the cards. “Someone has been doing her reading,” he said, imperceptibly shifting his grip on his wand. He wasn’t the most powerful, but he’d yet to meet anyone quicker on the draw then he was. He also trusted his Aurors implicitly. “But I think you’ll find that your interpretation is a little off.”   
  
Jones cast a nearly blindingly bright quick flash spell over Nacissa Malfoy’s head just as the Auror directly behind Harry, Maureen by the sound of it, shouted “ _Obumbrate_!” casting a shading spell on Harry while everyone else closed their eyes in involuntary self defense. He whipped up his wand and banished Ron to St. Mungo’s. Narcissa stumbled, losing her balance as Ron disappeared and the light vanished.   
  
The Aurors engaged the Death Eaters the second Ron was gone, leaving Harry facing Narcissa as Lucius and Draco were forced to defend themselves. “Standard Auror hostage procedure, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said pleasantly even as every instinct he had was screaming for him to follow Ron to hospital to make sure his best friend was going to be alright. “Now, as you correctly guessed, I am the master of the Elder Wand and it will not harm me.” He casually flicked his wand to disarm her and then levitated Narcissa above the fray. “Why don’t you observe from a better vantage point. Do you see how your side is losing? Again?”  
  
Narcissa snarled at him, the perfect society mask slipping away in her rage as Harry bent over and retrieved the Elder Wand. He held a wand in each hand. “I wonder what would happen if I cast using two wands at the same time,” he said. He looked around, held out his arms and crossed his wrists, “ _Expelliarmus_.” Lucius and Draco’s wands flew from them and the Aurors they had been fighting quickly knocked them unconscious.   
  
Harry lowered Narcissa to the ground and used the Elder Wand to bind her. “The Elder Wand always responds to strength,” he said in a lecturing tone of voice. “I can’t give it to you. You have to take it.” He banished her to Azkaban.   
  
“Everyone alright?” he called, looking around for Santana or Flannigan to hand over his team so he could go see Ron.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Harry looked up the hill to see Kingsley standing there with his arms crossed, flanked by two goblins in a similar pose. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” he said.  
  
“Not at all, Auror Potter,” Kingsley said. “We’ve made good progress today and will pick it up again in the morning,” he looked around, frowning, “Where’s Auror Weasley?”   
  
“He was injured, sir, I banished him to St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“Santana,” Kingsley barked, “you’re in charge.” He addressed Harry. “I’ll deal with this and let the family know. We’ll be there shortly. You’re dismissed.”  
  
Harry snapped off a smart salute and apparated to the hospital.

* * *

He felt Harry’s hand settle lightly on his arm; he’d recognize the feel of those long, strong fingers anywhere. He cracked one eye open and peered up balefully. “’m gonna kill you.”  
  
Harry sighed in relief and settled on the edge of the bed, sliding his hand down to lace his fingers with Ron’s. “I might let you,” he said shakily. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Ron thought about it for a moment, “Fuzzy. Floaty,” he decided. “Angry,” he glared pointedly, unsure if the effect was ruined by it only being a single eyed glare. He opened his other eye and glared again, just to be sure Harry got the message.  
  
“I know you are,” Harry said. “There wasn’t really a lot of choice at the moment though, you have to admit that.”  
  
“Don’t have to admit anything,” he grumped. “I’m in St. Mungo's.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Harry,” Ron said insistently, struggling to sit up. It was very important to make him understand. “Harry, you can’t do that any more.” Harry leaned over him, so Ron lay back on the pillows again. He pulled his hand free and brought both up to hold Harry’s pointy chinned face between his palms. “I don’t like leaving you.”  
  
“I know,” Harry soothed, pressing a kiss to his forehead and another to his mouth, which made Ron close his eyes and sink back into a relaxed sprawl on the bed. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispered directly into his ear before kissing his earlobe.  
  
“You should be,” Ron said sleepily. “Wanna go home.”  
  
“I know. Soon,” Harry promised. “Once that potion wears off, I’ll take you home. The Healers have already put you back together again. “  
  
Ron tried to look at his chest but couldn’t quite lift his head to see, but if Harry said it was alright then it was alright. “I’m still gonna yell at you later,” he promised.  
  
Harry laughed, warm and low and stroked down the side of Ron’s body, from shoulder to knee. “I know that too.” Ron nodded, satisfied, and then drifted off to sleep to the sound of Harry’s steady breathing.  


* * *

Urg looked on with a neutral expression as Minister Shacklebolt signed the bottom of the non-aggression treaty and then slid it over the table to him, expression unreadable. Urg took the quill his assistant handed him but hesitated, watching with interest as the Minister stilled further. “These are acceptable terms to you, Minister?” He asked.  
  
“I wouldn’t have signed it if they weren’t,” Shacklebolt said.  
  
“You didn’t get everything you wanted,” Urg persisted, idly running a finger along the feather in his hand.  
  
“Neither did you,” Shacklebolt pointed out. “That’s the way concessions usually go.”  
  
“Hmmm.” It was almost a shame, Urg couldn’t help but think. Keeping the humans off balance, proving to them that there was power in the world beyond their own had been a liberating experience to the goblin community. Almost too liberating, judging by the seething unrest underneath the veneer of their society’s pride of self-control. His own people becoming drunk on the headiness of the upper hand had never been the intention. It was time to end this before goblins began to adopt the attitude that had plunged the humans into this predicament in the first place. He took one last, regretful look at the Minister. Urg would miss the wizards’ fear. He signed.  
  
“It’s agreed then,” the Minister of Magic said, looking suddenly taller. “We will meet again three months to the day to discuss the possibility of opening trade between our people again. I will be sending our ambassador to Gringotts first thing in the morning.”  
  
“Your ambassador will be greeted by mine,” Urg said. “I very much hope that this heralds an era of new understanding between our communities.”  
  
“As do I,” Shacklebolt replied. “Now, you have agreed to set your prisoners free. Where are they?”  
  
“All over the world, Minister, but we will abide by the deal. I will send word immediately that all wizards and witches still living in our community are to be set free.”  
  
Minister Shacklebolt smiled and extended his hand. “Thank you, Urg.”  
  
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Minister.”

* * *

He didn’t notice the passage of time anymore. Hadn’t seen the sun in more time then he wanted to count, even if he could. It was just the tombs and the sand and the curses; the dust in his hair and broken fingernails and companions who faded away and died of homesickness. He’d stopped thinking of home long ago, keeping Fleur’s cool hands and hot mouth firmly relegated to dreams.  
  
“Come up,” the rough voice of one of his goblin minders broke through his listless untangling of yet another fatal Egyptian curse. “Come out.”  
  
Bill Weasley rose slowly to his feet and followed the goblin up one of the ramps. And up, and up, higher then he could remember having been since he was captured, places he hadn’t been since before he had been a prisoner of this tomb, sleeping with the bodies of pharaohs. He noticed other curse breakers joined him as they moved up and up and out of the bowels of the desert.  
  
Hope fluttered faintly, and then began battering wildly at his rib cage when he saw a stab of sunlight, blinding in the dark. He moved faster and faster toward that light, the goblins standing back and letting them pass. And even if this was the end, even if this was a nasty trick, or just moving to another pyramid, or even death by execution, Bill would not trade that ray of sunshine for the relative safety of the dark and the curses.  
  
They, the curse breakers, Bill’s nearly silent companions, burst out onto the desert, nearly at a run. He blinked uncontrollably at the unbearable brightness, unable to stand the light with eyes too accustomed to torchlight, but also unable to not look. To feel the scorching hot wind and even more brutal sun against the dirt caked skin of his cheeks. He choked on his tears.  
  
“Bill!” He was surrounded by unwashed bodies, still blind, but searching for that voice. He knew that voice, knew it from before the nightmare; knew it like he knew the sound of The Burrow settling at night. “Son of a bitch! Percy! It’s him!” And he was surrounded by long thin arms and he still couldn’t see, but he didn’t need to anymore. This he knew. Another body collided and clung and he was between two people he thought he’d never feel again. He breathed in deep, but could smell only his own foulness. But he could feel them close, feel home holding him and shaking with tears and laughter and too much, and never enough, and he just knew that if his eyes ever became used to the unrelenting light all he’d see would be Weasley red.  
  
“We found you,” Percy said against the back of his shoulder. “We found you.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ron was babbling into his neck as he clung. “I’m so, so sorry. We thought you were dead Bill. We thought you were gone and you were here all along. I’m sorry.”  
  
And this Bill remembered how to do. He shifted Ron over to one arm and dragged Percy around front with the other, both of his little brothers, tall and old but always, always his, gathered against his chest, hiding from their nightmares. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Hush now. It’s all over. I’m here.”  
  
His blinks were becoming longer and longer, and he stayed there, holding onto his family as they cried against his shoulders as his eyes grew accustomed to freedom. “I’m here,” he said again.  


* * *

Harry leaned against the wall watching the spectacle that was the Weasleys in full celebratory mode. Bill had not let go of Victoire for a moment since he had met his three year old daughter for the first time. Fleur had been alternately hugging Ron and Percy for bringing him home, Kingsley for negotiating the release and sitting in her husband’s lap, whispering to him in French. By the looks of Bill’s red ears, she had plans. Molly kept trying to force feed Bill, bursting into tears when he didn’t eat, bursting into tears when he did eat too. George was talking, a grin on his face that went a long way toward easing the family’s hearts.   
  
Kingsley approached, a lavender-haired Teddy in his arms, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s good to see them like that,” he said, nodding toward the Weasley brothers, vying for their eldest brother’s attention, pushing each other, talking over each other to tell stories. Charlie had Percy in a headlock and George—silent, half-alive George—was busily trying to force feed him a canary cream. Ron was taking advantage of the situation and telling Bill a story, gesturing wildly in what Harry could only assume was a poor impression of owl flight.   
  
“It is,” he grinned, tickling Teddy’s side until the little boy’s hair changed to a deep and impressive magenta. “Are you going to rescue your husband?” he asked. Percy was turning an alarming shade of red as he tried to keep his mouth shut against George while laughing hysterically.   
  
“Nope,” Kingsley said, kissing the top of Teddy’s head before letting the squirming boy down to chase after Molly’s enchanted broom as it whirled around, sweeping the floor. “He’s enjoying this.”  
  
The struggling Percy knocked George into Ron and Ron into Molly who promptly dropped the roast she had been carrying. “Ronald, Percival, George, Charles and William Weasley,” she shouted above the din. “Just look what you made me do!”   
  
Laughing protests and accusations rose and Ron scooped up Teddy and put him on his shoulders to rescue him from Andromeda who was trying to put her grandson to bed.  
  
“Not broken then,” Harry said looking at them. “Not even with Ginny in Azkaban.”  
  
“We celebrate joy where we can find it,” Kingsley said. “Bill’s going to visit her tomorrow.”  
  
“Good,” Harry answered. “She’ll be so happy to see him.” And they all deserved to share in this joy, even Ginny. She was part of this laughing and tragic family who loved each other almost too much, and he was glad that at least one member visited her everyday. He hadn’t been yet. Harry was still much too angry with her, but one day he’d go. It was important to Ron.  
  
Ron was suddenly in front of him, laughing. He handed Teddy over and planted a smacking kiss on Harry’s mouth. “Hold this a moment.”   
  
Harry, Kingsley and Teddy watched as Ron ran over and held Percy’s nose until he opened his mouth to gasp a breath. Bill neatly plucked the canary cream out of George’s hand and popped it into Percy’s mouth. In a flash, Percy was a fluffy yellow bird. He flew in an indignant circle before perching next to Victoire. He flashed back to human and Victoire clapped her hands in excited delight. “Yes, well,” Percy sniffed, trying unsuccessfully to stop smiling as he hauled his niece into his lap, “at least someone appreciates me.”

* * *

Harry was everywhere, swarming over him, naked and hot to the touch and not staying in one place long enough for Ron to get a good grip. There was a desperation to his kisses and a neediness in his touches that Ron didn’t understand. “Harry,” he said, moaning involuntarily as Harry’s cock brushed against his as Harry slid up his body to kiss his mouth. “Harry. . .” he tried again, but it was into the warm, curving mouth as Harry kissed him. Lush, fat, open mouthed kisses with lots of tongue and a little teeth to keep it interesting.   
  
Ron grabbed Harry’s hips and held them firmly, using his slightly superior strength to hold him still. “What—” he began but was lost again in a kiss. He pulled back, pushing his head deeply into the pillows of their bed. “Where’s the fire, love?” He asked softly, running his thumbs along the sharp bone of Harry’s hips.   
  
“Want you,” Harry whined and mouthed at his neck.  
  
“I want you too,” Ron said pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple, “but we finally have all the time in the world. No where to be. No one to fight. Why don’t we slow down and enjoy it?” Guilt flashed across Harry’s face, almost too fast to catch and Ron sighed. He was in one of those moods, no fighting it then. He gave one last stroke to his hips and then let go, spreading his arms and legs wide on the bed and offered himself up as a willing sacrifice.  
  
“God!” Harry groaned, sitting straight up, and scooting back to straddle Ron’s thighs. “Look at you.” It was a visceral pleasure to have Harry’s appreciative gaze wandering down his body. Harry planted a hand on Ron’s chest and leaned down to kiss him once, a quick tongue flick against the roof of his mouth, before he was gone again, squirming down until his face was level with Ron’s erect cock. He blew on it, looking up and grinning at Ron’s moan.   
  
“Well,” Ron gestured with a weak hand wave, “you’re the one who was in such a hurry. Have at it.” Harry beamed and did exactly that, sliding his lips over Ron’s shaft and down, practically to the root, before pulling back up with lots of suction and an obscene slurp. “Oh. Fuck,” Ron sighed and slid his hands into Harry’s hair, feeling the spiky softness between his fingers as it moved slowly over him.   
  
He let it all wash over him; sight sound, smell, Harry’s quiet breathing and careful touch until it merged into one bundle of sensation he couldn’t untangle, everything infinitely, intimately connected to this one act, Harry’s hot hands on his hips, his own panting breaths, Harry’s ribs pressed against the insides of his knees, Grimmauld settling around them, Pig hooting to Kreacher in the living room below, everything that contributed to this one moment in time, a suspended bubble just for him and Harry.   
  
A teasing, wet finger was suddenly dancing fleetingly over his balls, leaving a slight trail of lubrication that Ron hadn’t heard Harry conjure. It slid over his entrance, in slow, ever tightening circles before sliding in to the first knuckle. Ron gasped and arched off the bed, thrusting almost helplessly until Harry, rhythm unfaltering despite Ron’s best efforts, braced a forearm low across his hips to keep them down.  
  
Another finger joined the first, twisting, and Ron heard himself chanting, “In me, in me, c’mon Harry, in me,” over and over again. He felt Harry take a deep breath and relax until Ron slid further into that hot wet mouth, pressing his fingers against Ron’s prostate at the same time, and Ron came helplessly and hard and silently, too locked up with feeling to even breathe as his body seized with the sheer pleasure of it all.   
  
Then Harry was up and scrambling, sliding his way up, smearing lube hastily along the line between Ron’s hip and groin before he got his mouth on Ron’s and his erection pressing against the groove of muscle and bone and soft skin. He thrust once and came all over Ron’s stomach, gasping against Ron’s lips and shuddering in Ron’s arms.   
  
They lay in silence, all tangled legs and satisfaction, Harry sucking gently on a spot at the base of Ron’s neck where he nearly always left a mark after sex. Ron stroked Harry’s back in long languid lines, enjoying the feel of the soft leanness. “You okay?” He asked.  
  
Harry rose up, crossing his arms on Ron’s chest and leaning his chin on them. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said softly.  
  
“Yeah?” Ron asked straining his neck a bit to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose, smiling a little at the seriousness in the green, slightly unfocused eyes.  
  
“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Harry admitted. “You’re not going to like that I’ve been hiding it from you.”  
  
“Harry,” Ron said firmly, simply unable to muster the energy to be nervous. “Whatever it is, you never keep the important things from me. I won’t be angry.” Harry’s brow furrowed and Ron frowned slightly. “Alright,” he said, “tell me.”   
  
“I have to show you,” Harry said, rolling off Ron and the bed and grabbing his wand from the night stand to cast quick cleaning charms on both of them.   
  
“I’m really not in the mood to go anywhere, Harry,” Ron said, but he sat up.  
  
“We’re just going upstairs,” Harry said, pulling on a t-shirt and threadbare jogging bottoms and his glasses, not meeting Ron’s eyes.  
  
“Okay,” Ron said. He dressed quickly and then followed Harry until they reached the closed door of Sirius Black’s room. “Look, mate,” he said, turning Harry by the shoulders to look in his eyes. “There’s nothing in here that’s going to make me angry.”  
  
“But—” Harry opened his mouth in protest and Ron covered it with his own, kissing him with affection.  
  
“But nothing,” Ron said. “This room had been your way to deal with things that even I can’t quite understand. However you did that. However you do that, I’m just grateful that I have the rest of you.”  
  
“You do,” Harry pushed in close, arms circling Ron’s waist. “You have all of me. This was something I kept to myself—should never have kept to myself because it’s yours too.”  
  
And, because Harry seemed to need it, Ron pressed a kiss to the lightening scar and said, “It’s alright. I forgive you.” Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little, but tension still kept him still. “Love you, Harry.”  
  
“Love you, too.” Harry pulled back and they entered the room. It was clean, Harry had kept it that way, but not appreciably different from the last time Ron had been in there, two, maybe even three years ago. The only thing he notices that was different was a painting in the corner. It was on the floor and angled away, but Ron thought we recognized the frame and his heart started to pound. He followed Harry over and took a deep, nearly sobbing breath.  
  
 _Brown eyes_. Those so familiar and horribly missed, smiling brown eyes watched him with all the love he remembered. It was a shock so painful and amazing all at once that he couldn’t be sure what he was feeling. Harry was standing terribly still. Waiting for judgment, condemnation, yelling, Ron wasn’t sure what, and he pushed down the seed of resentment—shoved it right out of his heart. He stepped up behind Harry and slid his arms around his waist, hooking a chin over his shoulder and pressing their cheeks together. “Hello, Hermione. We’ve missed you.”  


* * *

“Is that really what you’re eating?” Hermione’s most bossy tone floated over their breakfast of cold pizza. “Really Kreacher, how do you put up with them?”  
  
“Practice and patience, Hermione,” Kreacher answered. It was hard for even the painting of Hermione to reconcile herself to the fact the Kreacher was still essentially a slave, but as Ron had pointed out it would be a punishment to the old elf to set him free. So she made it a point to chat with him daily from where her painting now hung in the kitchen.  
  
“I was on a late patrol last night, Hermione, and have a meeting in twenty minutes, would you mind terribly saving the lecture for later?” Ron growled from behind his mug of tea.  
  
“So sorry for caring about you,” Hermione said. “I suppose I should just let you develop scurvy without comment so that you don’t have to put up with my nagging.”  
  
Harry smiled happily, skimming the second edition of the newly established Daily Prophet, letting the old bickering wash over him, with Kreacher slyly interjecting every so often to egg them on.   
  
“What are you smiling about?” Ron asked, a little snappishly.   
  
“Just enjoying this peaceful morning with my two best friends and Kreacher,” he answered.  
  
Ron’s eyes softened and he smiled in return, nudging Harry’s foot with his own under the table.   
  
“You two really are adorable,” Hermione smiled indulgently from her frame.  
  
“Adorable?” Ron asked in disbelief, “I’ll have you know that we are two of the most decorated Aurors in Ministry of Magic history—”  
  
“Honestly Ron, learn how to take a compliment—”  
  
“I’m going to work,” Harry announced into the fray. He folded his paper and cleared his place, even as Kreacher glowered at him. Then he bent and kissed Ron softly on his still moving mouth. “See you at lunch?”   
  
“Yeah,” Ron smiled and stretched up to kiss him again. “See you then.”  
  
“Have a nice day, Harry,” Hermione called. “Don’t forget to stop by the library and bring me those books. Kreacher is going to hover them for me tonight so I can read.”  
  
“I won’t,” he smiled once more, heart light as he looked around the kitchen and then apparated to work.


End file.
